S.B.T. 113

the flying cube in the yellow sky


behind the stage at night in dustlight
the chorus tiptoe backs to the wall slim down sheeps corridor
unblanched do you know what i mean
its oiling meditation in catalonia between 2 tapstime.

“the entire building is located inside the flying cube” a gargoyle gurgles
automat voice tickets r on sale at the box oxxix helicopters can carry you
for a fee fi fo fum soldiers hand wigs thru the door
and dash cushions on the floor
the show starts wherever you get there

zipped stickysuits crash against the clouds stopmotion legs dangle the sky
thin cheesecloth veils welldraped before god google above the cathedral feather
you can hear the bells at the toll booth and bulls lock the toolbox
cheers drift over the racetrack rainbow, mustardpowder rising offa bungeejumpin bones

and disappear ring hoofes in the wind x hailed to all forevergivingness
backstage the laughing cubist men wash down wine in cymbalist jollery high hat percusso
spoonsize sugarcube men so sweet they disappear from the plate in no time
(at teatime the woman with the monogram forehead offers fresh dill of periwinkle

tho they are yellow and look like acrylic french manicure from the sandaltoe runway.

we open a book and she clads her eye in glass. the little moss girl listens aloud
spreading ivy up the brickwork finiculee finiculah cmon up here the shows just startin
tellem no way bubbleroo uh uh

dontwanna be a screwed up sunnavabitch by my own hands yore ether

net worth rhumba or rawquiescent acquazither

wartorn patterns of wallpaper waltz
preshush sh sh shoes as she sweeps
sparkle to save the bleeding guernicow
choreograft boxing turns a punch
away easy....





(for an important synoptic click the title sbt 113)