the day
all the days
i dont know what to do with them
theyre like tambourines
in the snow
i got my colour tv
and my dylan lps
i grind up fresh coffee beans
breathing new stainless
electric vapour
up at the same ceiling whirls
where my grandfather
blew his yellow pipe smoke
the days well theyre like
one of those portraits
in a gallery
or on a wood paneled wall
in a horror films
creaking mansion
where the painted eyes
seem to follow you
which ever chair arm
you perch on dubious
and sipping at a drink
the days well theyre like
i been flagged up
and all the teachers
and all the policeman know
and now theyre ready
to bear down
and bite at my ear
angry with agendas
angry with the writing
and the unmowed lawn
from wikipedia.org
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