Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Thirty-eight fifty-six make ninety-four

Come to my table periodically

Gaze into the dust, drink of strong tea

Empty the soul, free the heart, mind the head

Crush down the demon and bury him dead 

Said the wise man pinning the lie to the floor

Thirty-eight  fifty-six make ninety-four

Pluto poor peasant,  a planet no more

Thirty-eight  fifty-six make ninety-four

Try tea? Mmmm, Yes. Don't mind if I do

Sixty cups dirty before we are through

Sixty cups dirty, we usually have one

Behold in its glory, a miniature sun

Strong tea and seed-bread, so much on your plate

Ninety-four makes fifty-six thirty-eight

Bury him, lest he come crashing your gate

Ninety-four makes fifty-six thirty-eight

1 comment:

Shallel said...

When having tea with Bill
Pluto is truly disgraced.
Ninety-two is of the will,
to lead this mystery to be Aced.

So it seems your miniature sun
is not quite the same as the real one.
The ashes are cold, the dust spikes fleeting
The mess that was made gave souls a beating.

Seed-bread, a loaf, crumbs only remaining
Thirty-eight fifty-six are less than you thought.
Bury him! Bury him! The demon sustaining.
Thirty-eight fifty-six how well you have taught.