’round midnight

there’s an argument, an accusation, a defense and a denial, there’s a reason for suspicion, you lie in many positions and now you are prone to stretching truth to fit your couch. What is your couch and how is it folded? Of what will you accuse me at this hour? Insanity and how does it repeat itself, Insanity and how does it repeat itself?? Accuse me at an hour illogical, argue your place in history, make the points of arrows, spears and pens, paint another war with the red fluid of skewered humans in snow, it’s late by any clock, i remain conscious and vibrate to Blue Notes in South America, writing about my freedoms on the way out, ‘Hey yo, which way out?’  ‘Wear it out Loser!’

midnight in medellin, got the milk of mothers? how poor is poor where you live? how goes the whores and her kids? how close thy revolutionaries and priests, el rio medellin cold brown in glittering litter and sleepers on her shore, i won’t save a soul tonight, maybe my own will come back tomorrow.

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