81 Poop Hatch Songtext

My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a silver bar ? big poop hatch with a cotton hatch ? hatch holes that the light shows in and the light shows out ? and the little red fence ? and the wire and the wood ? and the barbs and the berries ? and the tires and the bottles and the caruponrims ? and the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold ? trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts its bell was blocking an ant?s vision ? and the mice played in its air holes and valves ? a ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked its wings and blew off to a flower ? its hum heard just above the ground ? black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small window ? birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper ? "My sun is free from the window," said the god the green dabbers ? rice wires mouse tins and milk muffins ? cereal and stone ? matches and masks and mace and clubs ? and splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet ? cobwebs collect down plaster run into a hole and find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon midway between telegraph lines ? a silver wing ? a cloud ? a rumbling of a cloud ? a crowd of various violins strum from next door through my wall into my ear obviously artificial ? neighbors laugh through sandwiches ? Harlem babies ? their stomachs explode into roars ? their eyes shiny with starvation ? spreckled hula dance on my phonograph ? my door rattles windy ? sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear ? a typical musician?s nest of thoughts filter through dust speakers ? "Why don?t you go home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock ?n? roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch ? the surface of a friend ? this high book a friend laid on me ? on the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought ? strain on the spoon like a wheat check ? check Bif ? cotton popping out of his sleeve ? poop hatch open ? big poop hatch with a cotton hatch ? hatch holes ? got to pick up the horns ? but the head won?t move until it walks