The grass doesn’t love me though I nursed it, fussed over it in the night like baby asparagus. Even trees show flexibility but I can’t be expected to twitter with cowbirds, give doves milk, carry nuns in my brain. I’m from Wichita, for God’s sake.
Let’s save the world, even if it’s only a tortilla with Mary’s face. The Ghost is my pay pal, his great fat fist a cannon, his voice calling you home.
Listen, if you go, take a note from me and hold on, rail against fairness, against the sun that won’t stop.
Tim Amsden: “I worked for the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency for 25 years in its Kansas City office, which gave me a deep and abiding appreciation for the interplay between the sublime and the absurd.” (link)