Wednesday the 12th
If red turns out to be pink, what am I to think?
If the seamstress says that I’m colorblind I don’t mind!
If all the artists changed all their palates I don’t care!
Cause I’ve got my eyes to tell me and I don’t need to listen to them
Seamstresses and artists set up on the street waving their college degrees at me. They want to teach me that my idea is off the wall but I’m going to keep my vision high.
Ever since I was a young boy I’ve pedaled along my way. From the asrama to saint Joseph’s I’ve pedaled through them all. From east cliff to the gecko and by the Cruiser King the hog farm and jazzercise then to the harbor and between the lakes. The windmill is next then the sunny cove. The wharf road and back to the asrama in the nick of time.
The lotus nails this evening. Nrsinghadeva ripped the wasp in two and then washed his hands and took rest. Tonight they dance away in that dress.