Sometimes. '89 Poem by Wilkins Driver

every once in a while i greet a telephone
and when i eat the voice i swallow it wrong
by the time i think the tension follows things
telling of a tour in the well shaped story
the bells are hearing me
they whistle back towards the welting heal
i rush to the front row to get a snapshot of the veil
yelling sorrows heavy im entertaining
the young minds and the croaked tool
stripped to the bones of my fallen hole
a whole within a hole
building the dirt i wanna get outt'a here to see some friction please
alright yellow is the color of my positivity
and grey is the sound where i hold no phase
just excuse my colors and remember im not too careful
with the phases i get from the moon
the eclipse took a long drive on the night
staring shortly just breifly the evacuation of our eyes
illuminate the bloody tossed up sun
tough to try am i right?