A Longing for the Memory of Eyes / by Reckon

Horse teeth, gold teeth, bless me body shot, gangway fleshpot.

Universe, Universe, show me we are

Your priceless laugh-talk,

Your hair as I write this in Texas between two antique typewriters.

We have been with you and loved you all the way to Rome! We are louder now in the United States where She was Made. In the same Made vision, very softly now: Om.

She seed it; she said it was great. She transported to the bowels of the earth communication in opiate jive. She seed the cities every maze. She seed the memory of eyes:

Nama Mai Won, Nama Mai.

Nama Mai Won, Nama Mai.

Nama Mai Won, Nama Mai.