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11.24.2006 A revenge on painters (Marie Rennard) A revenge on painters With a rubber Shade off the dark Soothe the light; tone the reds down on the picture. Let the whale in the back Play its old Chinese tunes They will dance west, Golden shadows on the waves of the night, Till they spare drowned on blue sea grass Carefully ranked round a sweet eyed scarecrow. Inside the whale, paint what you need Hide what you fear Take place in an armchair of guts They re so sweet in fresh whales, And have a glass of this hoarse sugared wine So expensive But those who can afford A living in a whale don t care about money. Then choose one of the books, That one, with shells on the worn out jacket And pick the letters out Random To read A foul bunch of rambling The problem with the whales is that they really stink As much as a pack of dead dogs And, how could one paint this Without using a word? Marie Rennard. posted by Guido Monte on Friday, November 24, 2006 Post a Comment
A revenge on painters (Marie Rennard) A revenge on painters With a rubber Shade off the dark Soothe the light; tone the reds down on the picture. Let the whale in the back Play its old Chinese tunes They will dance west, Golden shadows on the waves of the night, Till they spare drowned on blue sea grass Carefully ranked round a sweet eyed scarecrow. Inside the whale, paint what you need Hide what you fear Take place in an armchair of guts They re so sweet in fresh whales, And have a glass of this hoarse sugared wine So expensive But those who can afford A living in a whale don t care about money. Then choose one of the books, That one, with shells on the worn out jacket And pick the letters out Random To read A foul bunch of rambling The problem with the whales is that they really stink As much as a pack of dead dogs And, how could one paint this Without using a word? Marie Rennard. posted by Guido Monte on Friday, November 24, 2006 Post a Comment
A revenge on painters
With a rubber
Shade off the dark
Soothe the light; tone the reds down on the picture.
Let the whale in the back
Play its old Chinese tunes
They will dance west,
Golden shadows on the waves of the night,
Till they spare drowned on blue sea grass
Carefully ranked round a sweet eyed scarecrow.
Inside the whale, paint what you need
Hide what you fear
Take place in an armchair of guts
They re so sweet in fresh whales,
And have a glass of this hoarse sugared wine
So expensive
But those who can afford
A living in a whale don t care about money.
Then choose one of the books,
That one, with shells on the worn out jacket
And pick the letters out
Random
To read
A foul bunch of rambling
The problem with the whales is that they really stink
As much as a pack of dead dogs
And, how could one paint this
Without using a word?
Marie Rennard.
Post a Comment