Curt Walheim came back to the U.S. Three months strolling the hills and streets on the soil of Ol’ Europa, digging the old beat and living large.
He sent my monkey a message from an old civilalization lazy and sleeping now, but firm within the soil beneath all of our feet.
BeeBop
There is no universal peace as you think
must rust across the broad bored
winding road asleep by the speed limit
sign. The tried tired mind slinks down
the slope of sleep and seeps into the
sleek smooth skinned miss who kissed
you in the mist flying by. Stop at the
drop of a hat, dance and prance, skat
a lot and do more for the mar – o.
Adore what’s in store, for you be not
here tomorrow. Go on to the loom
soon away from some undone finish.
Not we worth a smile while the file
grates against ancient moon over Nile?
Night of painless luna directionless
style. Find no mind to pay time to,
sire. Free runs the kind sign to deeds
aspiring to simply inspire the same
vein in some worthy find. Gotta
go on, go on, and go on. Be gone soon,
son….that’s all there is
to it.
Rome
10-20-95
Bentz