What We Talk About When We Talk About Each Other

from by Vocas from the Tom Tom

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This here is a simple progression,
so you may calm yourself of all the critical obsessions
spend some time inside the mind,
ask yourself questions like

Can you achieve happiness?
Is it the goal in mind manipulating your actions with everyday life?
How do you walk with it?
Do you carry your intoxication side your hip?
where movement keeps nothing but a
jealous pile of wooden erectionsto smoke over the courthouse
over the lawn where my nieces play
for god and all the other intellectuals
to watch and perhaps judge if they please,

And how are they? How do they talk?
Does conviction force way out a mouth?
Do lips move in relation of what is beneficial to me,
for the people, for stupidity
and of too many places to come and to leave?

And who the fuck are they to sip a tiny cup and smile from the coffee shop
like every opportunity comes from minuets
of still conversation with a back pocket flask,
running closer the time of cars and trucks
transporting college kids and mill workers and wanderers
blessing town square with a pass,

Just rolling along a way,
with particular destination in mind
but a billion places to see, and perhaps this one here
can find a home all they way out there
in the darkness,
with the stars and the grass
and the animals.

It makes you feel like that, doesn't it?
like Ted in Nebraska July
while the rusty truck you passed
personifies a resting anxiety
in broken fenders and flat tires.

Do you feel like letting the air capture
and blow every bit of joy out your fingertips
for whoever laughs at the joke?

And how do you,
all the way out here,
go about telling the joke

And I've heard my debt to freedom is irredeemable,
but at least I get to make my own decision.
Spend the 96 percent on the compound interest,
and leave a bit to keep up with the women.

And I'm slowly disregarding everything you've taught me
and even learning how to form my own opinion,
but with subtle implications and sexual positions
I am but naked contemplating my own soul for cigarettes,

and I've heard the price of love with be the death of me,
but it may be wise for nobody to listen.
Spend half your fuckin' life building all kinds of bridges,
kill the sound. Are you excited now? We've created a map without limits.




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Vocas from the Tom Tom Denton, Texas

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