runnin out’v words
can’t keep up the pace
lull the pain,
and Mr. Truth sits there like some Grandpa
rockin on spot
unlit pipe and half an apple
runnin out’v words
no fendin off this desire
to sabotage the claim,
to blow apart some silly little house on some prairie,
another desire for some silky silky thrills
runnin out’v words
can’t find no lover
no way,
can’t recognize the sound of rain
the change of wind
questionable drums
stormy-jungle arms…
can’t recall the truth
translated
from some menu
without foreign reactionary words
NYC, 1968