Listenning for the hoofs of the rescue party Waiting for some ghost pony To glide into Berkeley With an old fish bowl for a tear trap Strapped to its ghost saddle It moves slow like an excercise bike On an airport walkway Yeah Something that wouldn't smell like ground ants Or glossy magazine cologne But a wet street after light late summer rain A wooden match just lit Or something new in the green Subject of a landscape painting Or something new in the foreground In a poster of some Asian mountains That says "patience" in a funky Italics |
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