GARDEN OF SARCASM
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welcome to my garden of sarcasm
that is called social pattern.
come in  come in. .
we've been waiting for you.. 
have a seat.. 
          repeatedly  over and over,
          like the changing of lovers,
          like the turning of pages,
          the gloom sets its path
          and humans follow it
          to thier destiny, like 
          boyscouts in the woods,
          at night, with one flashlight.
          in bars we light the night
          with smoke and tip the glass over,
          spilling ice and backwash 
          into a puddle. 
what?  you want me to  clean that up?
it is your job .. 
and you just blew your tip
into a cavern the size of nebraska, 
clean it up yourself.. your the one getting paid.
          twilight sneaks into bed with daylight,
          and night erupts like sex.
          generations have eroded into ritual,
          only to find themselves waiting
          for the rising of the stars and the moon, 
           the universal familliar, 
           the passion friend, 
           the comrade to decadance..
          some find glow of life in dead of night.
          some find death of soul in the nights brillance.
          cobain colored wallpaper marks this reality
          and grades it like a social studies test,
          with lots of red marks over things you thought
          you understood, but were obviously mistaken.
          ongoing babble bringing the ritual
          to its full circle.
mind clutter...unfocussed thoughts in random
pattern.   repeatedly.  over and over
          like the blows of boxer, on the verge
          of victory... like the ringing of 
          the cash register.. like today..
un pattern that is social pattern,
chaotic blooming, cut and trimmed to perfection
so we may visit and behold it's beauty,
in my garden

			Lob  -/\-  11/97 HB,CA