Eighty Gongs Can't Be Wronged

Soft or hard is the problem with secrets
How much pink and blue trust
Can one silver and muster gold
O' wayfarer, all lonely and sailing
So easily distracted by jellies
Cut a swatch out, pose, angle
Moving at a banana paced clip
Where we "excessorize" and abandon
Intertwined, knit together square, to no end
Bold, paint splatter bold, silver and gold
Beating the preppie pants off it
But, in an acid wash soul
Picking apart the digested matter in side pony
Showing off in neon the speed of foot and legging
Pegged for creeping, stoic in denim
Life becomes friendship bracelet
Primal dreams crimped together
In an institution for members only
Working on relations with rolled up cuff
Moods are extreme, fantasy is private
There is no parachute
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7.31.09