He sees the blue heart of the planet in the silverware

Ties tie us, we become foagra, elegant, ready for dinner, but death. I have taken off my tie and everybody looks at my mind, they batter me with air, filling the room with drowned jealous swell, jelly in their throat; some times alone equals free, falling: sky. It is not your average rebellion, dazed-confued cry in the hippy white house, it is nature and respiration, hope for energy, lungs that power the body to flight, hope that we can change our stiff marches, hope for matches. Oh and i will not preach to red-neck green-eye folk my theory of escape but still will not let them, preach by mechanical example their only way, why ? i want to keep playing my odds, maybe the black horse and the black whore will win the ball, the ball, the heart of the planet.