PLANS? I HAVE NONE!!!

                             By an angry ChiAn

                              What are plans?
                         Plans are only for fools!
                       I do not plan, I do not blend.
                         Those who have time, PLAN.
                             I have not enough!
                 Why plan when you don't know what's ahead?
                 Why plan when you don't know what's read?
                Why plan when you don't know what's written?
                  Or being black on the peninsular of NOW?
                   What is now but a white elephant tusk?
                 What is now but a word describing nothing?
                   What is now but a whore with no name?
                     What is now but a clap of thunder?
                   What is now but a cheap butte station?
                     What is now but a selfish husband?
                      What is now but a dream of home?
                     What is now but a moon baked lake?
                    What is now but a song of tomorrow?
                   What is now? What is now? What is now?
                           The people questioned,
                      Still, as elapsed eclipsed wisps
                Banishing you to the hell saloon of falsity.
                        Mary, the blue sheep asked.
                   Why don't you go back to the shepherd?
               You know how he longs to skin you, don't you?
                 China wool for sale! China wool for sale!
                     It's all about benefits, ain't it?
             These calendars, these verandas, these sex pandas
               Clawing out your eyes, clawing out your lies.

                       Monday, you shall be in Paris.
                    Tuesday, you shall be in Capricorn.
                      Wednesday, you shall be in Jazz.
                    Thursday, you shall be in Alcatraz.
                     Friday, you shall be in St. Paul.
                     Saturday, you shall be in Trouble.
                       Sunday, you shall be in Asia.
                Everyday, you shall be somebody else's wife.
                         Go back to Mr. Everything.
                          Are you still separated?
                         Are you still evaporated?
                         Are you still fluctuated?
                         Are you still punctuated?
                          Are you still decimated?
                         Are you still emancipated?
                          Are you still elongated?
                           Are you still wounded?
                           What are you? A month?
                        Oh! I can't wait that long.
                       Ma pants are wet with poetry.
                       Ma hands are wet with cement.
                       Ma sands are wet with lament.
                        Ma pens are wet with semen.
                       Ma lands are wet with ferment.
                 Three scores, I remember them but not you.
                           Who are you? A cymbal?
                  I know you not because you know me not!
                 I hate you. I hate you because you are ye.
                I hate you. I hate you because you are free.
                I hate you. I hate you because you are pea.
                 I hate you. I hate you because you are he.
                I hate you. I hate you because you are bee.
                I hate you. I hate you because you are sea.
                 I hate you. I hate you because you are me.
                      Hate? Plans? Love? Dates? Fates?
                       I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THEM!!!
                     I'm going to die in a plane crash.
                      What about you? What about you?
                       You know, you rhyme with hue.
                       New, knew, Bill and wheel too.
                 Why don't you catch the first flight here?
                   Are you not FREE? Are you not a slave?
                         Think, think till you cry.
                      Are tears not easier than blood?
                             Which is heavier?
                   A bucket of tears or a drop of blood?
                             Who cares to know?
                       Don't they all weigh the same?
                   A pound of tears or a pound of blood.
                                Fair barter.
                Plans? I will pawn them for a rubber pussy.
                          Real people don't plan.
                          They live to end death.
                        So... Plans? I have none!!!

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