these things grow on  they push up  the music's paid for  we've put in all this work  learning   just what music sounds like  making our mouths move  to it.  It plays anyway.  The tree in the yard is there  thwacking its fronds on the glass  getting bigger bright tips  winter didn't stop it these   the blue spruce toothed scale  foliage not knocked back  by frost like our voices  we have to speak we sing   no tune no timing we do  anyway we have to it's a   human condition do  we get salary here?  In the  bar they've got the record  machine on too loud lean in  and ask what next.  drink.  go home.

we open our  heads and let the light in  surgeons help Homer  Thomas Carlyle the Green  Knight Carlos Williams  Zarathustra you know  they can sing too it's  not just a matter of search  beams and great splashes of  understanding brightness  like yellow paintings on  the wall when you don't expect  them.  There's a thing about  these new centuries that wants  us to own as much as know,  to tag life with our spray   logo I'm with sloop doggy   he doesn't care a damn bout  fronds just money  get out there and buy batteries  then find they are the wrong  size.  What next.  Mr Spock  would know.