good for a lark

[from:    the Loss Lieder]

they laugh, but then the choir fell thru the floor.  it became, or appeared, a moment with odd rocks arrayed for the public.  a nearness twiddles its thumbs far away....and slow beginnings, introductions with feather-time, heap up here all over the understudied.....if you overstep the bounds,  then the hare will lie down with the film makers.  almost the eternity that they shoot for, slithers into the one regard i’d seize.  if electronics replace the scoreboard, then fire on those who wait, buried way inside personal life.  the state of crying slings right past, and then you put your foot on the accelerator, or a mammoth pike of sensation you barrel down.  when i have all the echoes, i’ve heard some right at the beginning, right at the start.  a toy  by definition’s broken, and quietly led forms to glue there.  laughter distant while calling up the, almost the rapid fall, they’ll come toward you with those papers.  an explanation is halted, flim-flam amuck with time in this jar. i’m going to drop it (right now). all frozen the one letter, and  if it went astray i found new gestures, a something else (like something opened).  quite right, then i changed font.  the big one, with appalling dark lines, it was like a painting in a dream.  or commercial in a dream.  forest scents while being stalked by animals with ownership, credence flowing out the everyday....  stunned managers, you’ll find your hats where the cards are.  punch this one, this word, it won’t ring only pay out with clocks under my adjusted “no”