Sixes and Sevens,
I cry from the heavens!
No more of these set-ins,
My poor mind it maddens!
Hope’s a cyanide,
for a tearful abide.
I’ve known the wild ride,
Alice and madness, and badness aside.
What’s your situation?
I’ve no destination.
Madness ‘n numbers, mathematical formul-i
Tones ‘n notes ‘n out of tune, I die.
Seeking the seeker, whom seeks the sky?
I rhyme, and I rhyme– or at least try.
Oh King and Oh Queen,
Your relation’s obscene!
Incest is best when done in a dream,
stark raving mad or naked and clean,
Oh King and Oh Queen of soiled latrine!
The sheets! The sheets! What more repeats,
Of all those that preach, and little altar-boys eat?
Bloody madness, and bleached-cotton in heat,
woe to you, delectable treat!
War mines, star shines,
the Moon climes
all in desperate time,
to a beat, a tempo, a forgone sign.
Oh the madness we touch,
atop the hutch,
of reality’s crutch,
That’s silent? No such.
Thing in the dream, of a queen made a scene.
Appalling, appealing, and reeling in ‘tween,
Is it us or our madness that which I’ve seen,
Recall the fall of the madness and ream,
But who is the whom with untruly lean?
Is it you or the madness that you’ve desired?
The thunder of cannons yet to be fired?
Perhaps in the middle, something yet to be sired?
My final questions are these which I’ve asked,
of the moral majority and madness unmasked.
In the sun’s warm glow now shall we’ve basked,
with madness and numbers and Alice, up-classed.