Sixty Acres - Caravels

We have everything and we have nothing

Days with the glass edges and the impossible stink of river moss worse than shit

Checker board days with moves and counter moves fagged interests with as much

sad defeats and victory

Slow days like mules humping its slag and sowing its sun glade up a road where

a mad man sits waiting upon blue jeans, netted in

Good days too wine and shouting fighting in alleys fat legged women stripping

around your bowels buried in moans and finding bulls, mother comes creeping

Violets coming out of the ground in order to forgive the dead armies and the

love stops

Buried beneath the floorboards, beneath you and me

Starved for sight, starved to see

Oh, for a hint of light

Still deprived

Oh, for the love of life

It still cries

And the thinking and the tilling, the firing and sirens across

Man with extensive wine says like 68 in the ground to be drilled or shown off

or be walled away from this incompetence