Best Experienced With: Bongwater; You Don’t Love Me Yet
(please right click on the link below to open the suggested background music to this evening’s poetry gathering in a new window. Nothing about boats, unfortunately. And a beautiful cover of musical genius Roky Erickson’s “You Don’t Love Me Yet.”)
Where the Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.
“Forgive, forget & eat more jam,” the jar said on the lid.
Dai ate some jam and thought a lot and, in the end, he did
go home and be a better boy.
Although, sometimes, it’s tricky.
There is a moral to this tale:
Jam makes fingers sticky.
The Mind of Mully
The sidewalk never, ever, ever, ever, ever ends up here. Thanks for visiting.