I'm under no obligation to explain

Sam said, "don't go to the beach, or there may be a breach of trust."  But I said, "My friend, I must go down (down under, where the spiritualists are stringy)."

On certain nights, I don't see the sun on Sunday, when my gorsebush is dying,
but I can see the moon flying.
There's wolves crying,
sounding patriotic in their furred state of affection.
But the inflections and perfections of this situation
long for linguistic stationariness.
I'm so tired of all our Norse inflections.

The northern reflections
did not stop the Norsemen,
like notes on a page,
and pages on their horses,
delivering letters that changed the wars, and the courses
of history...

Play in the clay, play in the clay,
I don't wanna go to school today,
You big ol' roughly ambiguous being...

Gimme a spoon with three dogs in it.
--can't limit my ways to the days of rot,
but I haven't ever lain on a parking lot
for seven consecutive days.

Wolfin', Wolfin' down more,
lickin' up the blood he just spilled with his two front incisors,
crushing down -- wasn't he wise
to use those wisdom teeth?

Pullin' out the arms of innocence,
chewin' up the fingers of confidence --
ain't that the way of the wolfman.

There's gonna be lots of mayhem tonight --
Looking at stars, waiting 'round,
dripping blood like a celestial navigator/
Cosmic alligator.
And the fright that creeps
through the deeps of the night,
He don't have eyes in his head,
just a pair of nostrils sticking out of his toes.
Smelling around through the ground;
Through the smelly sort of muskeg.

How do we know we're alone,
when our bone in its radioactive greenness
can never quite compare
to the rare and the green?