drive manifesto (wittgenstein melody)

 the bitter reach of art is narrow dark and desolate

this much we know our fetishes feed that

desade was at least a bit considerate 

to stun a stoic with his horny rhetoric

and so we drive down each street 

a linguists chain of chomsky lines

of blotched and blorted propoganda

wicker trees hang chains just to abort

the bitter milton plains

where people talk 

or dont

not quite

each house has light but each is wrought

barren uninhabited and void of light but

therein dark resides to spew astral sprites

the burp that filled the hell bound streets

for whites