let’s play that.
—
behold! this angel told me, squeezing my hand,
with a smile between its teeth:
go on, untune the choir of the contented men.
- let’s play that, until we decease.
(excuse my lousy english)
(jards/torquato, my anthropophagical crap with your beautiful work was a sad gag reflex)
this is the only thing that i am sure of,
and that’s all that live is gonna die.
and there’ll always be some people here to wonder why,
and for every happy hello, there will be good-bye:
there’ll be time for you to put yourself on.
everything i’ve seen needs rearranging,
and for anyone who thinks it’s strange:
then you should be the first to want to make this change.
and for everyone who thinks that life is just a game:
do you like the part you’re playing?
—
arthur lee.
1967.
