There is a comma at the end because this poem is not supposed to end; when I get into another one of my weird moods I will continue writing it, but I have not updated this poem for over a year now [yes, these hippie moods are hard to come by when you are busy with so many other things].
Going to places many a times,
Looking through my head,
And know! Oh how you know,
The meaning of know,
To see many a men,
In suits,
Singing ‘oh I know’,
And to see them is to see,
Your headworks among a clockwork,
Your mates among an infinite melancholy,
Your knowing in reversal order of it,
And your machinery in disillusionment,
And your photocopies are made posh,
Your main views scrubbed,
Head made cleaner,
And oh! You many coats on hooks,
Making up solvents in heads,
Clean clean clean!
Going a many seams with plates,
On adventures,
Feeling like a Joplin,
Becoming a head washer,
Looking at the glass time go on pass,
Past seeming to loose cut,
Back to many a mathematical equations,
X is x and y is y – look further,
Look closer,
Then x becomes a sphere and y,
Looks perpendicular to the cause,
Graph made,
Looks look cleaner,
Looks like a Tchaikovsky gotten straighter,
A note gone to the waster,
Arsenic in my water,
Mercury gone silver,
Silver gotten blacker,
Pure forms mocked harder,
Seams becoming heavier,
The scarved woman looking sullier,
Duller and much dimmer,
Locking books in arms and nails,
Holes driven through wood,
Head made into a gonner,
Mates put in a locker,
Looking looking through the glass,
Which cannot break!
Nonsense nonsense!
Type up numbers solve equation,
Noise gone louder,
Animals swimming up the stairs,
The clockwork started,
Ticking at the tock,
Cogs working up the eye,
Impulses gotten flammable,
