Democratic License by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Patti Smith
Oh chariot of insect
Oh crown of wind
Two royal leopards run with him
On a golden lead of tapered vine
Oh the blood sky, oh the blood sky Vine of a god running wild
Oh golden seed who made the winged child
Run, run my little one
Run out to sea
Run, run my little one
What do you seek?
The canvas is high
The scheme of a life
Written in the wind
The pen, the knife
Run my little one
Breathe a hymn
Breathe my little one
A hymn to him
To him
The master is calling, calling
The canvas is high
The scheme of a life
Written in the wind
The pen, the knife
Run, run out to sea
Run my little one
What do you seek?
If you were his eyes
If you were his dreams
The whole of the sky could not contain you
So run, run, run out to sea
Run my little one
Breathe a hymn for him
For thee
Written by Patti Smith and Leonard J Kaye.
I got up, somewhat tentatively and shaky, as the gondola shifted with the weight displacement. I couldn’t help but say “Ooof,” as the load swayed, and squat back down steadying myself with both hands on deck, while I noticed that “PATTI SMITH” had changed her tag to “ANNA LEE.” She said; “Don’t worry. You won’t rock the boat; I don’t think.”
More or less, I didn’t either.
The “impending democratic” singularity is still foolishly celebrating over an early courtside lunch, while the Christian duality is busy preparing their liberating and tasty steak dinner within the “confines” of the larger House.