You’ll have to go on inner wind
to get to the heart of the cartoon monkey.
To see the numbers dashed and sinned.
The alphabet, your average junkie.
And down the stairs of other worlds.
And up into the light of silence.
There’s your shadow, locked and curled.
Clouds are tame. Sun is violence.
You’ll have to go on slow rewind
to get to the vein of the masters passed.
On line, the winters, grey and blind.
Long falls of marching underclassed.
And down the pipe of lifelike smoke.
And up the stream of bloody sorrow.
Cartoon monkey beats the joke.
Turns into a man tomorrow.