Intuitively developed art that follows its own internal logic free of other rules.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Coyote Song

The Indians call me Walto Dog. What-A-Dog. What-A-Dog! I sing myself and shake the hills. Stop this night with me and loose your throat.

Once a time in fairy tale
a dog would save the pekldfille.
He was all loving the pep0le.
 went up and down saving the peoopel.
In alleys, down basements, protect,
pertect, peertect du peoplez."
♪ I loved blood more than berry and beetle,
I loosed blood more than Arthropod.
I'm no mouse in store for a tiny carcass, a wish for a centipede.
I seek the lame, halt and blind in my way, for impurity lives.
I'm a doctor, a healer. There to help I came, to introduce painless to pain.
You feel pain, scatter teeth, rename. Hiawatha What-A-Dog!.
I be down to get you in the broadcloth shrubbery
I see through the honey. Hiawatha!
Medium of change and exchange that forgives.
All pass but this, the blood that washes, commerce of the same. ♪
♫ And now the warm white bread I eat.
Hig a pig a pop.
when a helicopter wants take out.
I show up.

Polly put the kettle on
this jug so empty
and serve my frien.'
Loaf on the grass,
agued pie of my fast.
The best of the toothsome fat is the blab of the pave.
Folks who do damage, do the same. ♫
A was for the apple.
I cut it up for food.
B was for the baby bird I visit after school.
We ate the hot fry.
D, when day was over, I could see the moon.
But my Binky could not rise.
Rise up you stars of stew.
I flown down a brandy,
a ruff-cask pooch with stuff.
Diddle down them animals
 with the nerve to call.
We get to know each other.
I am poet of Body and Soul. What-A-Dog Cosmos!
Can you speak?
That lantern make you flit.
We both got to fend for life and truth. I did.
My tongue, every atom of blood
Form'd from this soil, this air,
Poet of Body and Soul,
Born of parents there. Creeds in abeyance
I harbor a school.
Long that smile I feasted. What-A-Dog Cosmos!

When you go down to defeat your enemy
hang him round your neck like a bowling ball.
Make him into a god, hang his head inside,
put him on your wrist for life insurance.
Sell him to tourists. They need more gods.
Speak Space Voyager from the mountain side.
♫ "I'll be down to get cha in a broadcloth honey.
You better be ready so I won't be late,
you one nice dry pig. ♫
"There's nothin' you can do 'cept age and wait."

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