Stuff Kevin Wrote: Green acres is the place for me……..

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Well the summer is…………….. over

Thank God

I hate the summer

Green acres is the place for me.
Farm livin' is the life for me.
Land spreadin' out so far and wide
Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside.

Well if I was soukie, toukie, or pookie

Banging an hanging at the jersey shore

I would y love it

The smell of freshly, cut grass

The Sickly sweet smell of fruit, rotting sweetly on its vines

Clean air, time square

.

Here I am here

Listening to the dumpsters as they bang out a song

That calls every fly in the universe

To my own little private Idaho

Swear, funk, and dog droppings………..

The ending smell of roasting meat

Graduated into the smell of rotting garbage

Which taken together Compose a uunic song

 

congestion

every one stuck up underneath every one

Radios blasting

Dogs barking

Cars and smoke

And children fighting over a piece of grass

Yup I would love the summer

Where I dining on the Rivera

Feasting on lobsters near a white house in Maine

All the while listening to the crackle of fireworks

Celebrating the life and times of some obscure

Town father

In some beautiful square in a almost nameless town

Newark is where I'd rather stay.
I get allergic smelling hay.

I just adore a project view.
Dah-ling I love you but give me Park Avenue

I would love it

If the sounds that I heard

Were not the staccato sounds of gunshots

Or of cars back firing

Or constant sound of some language that I can’t

Even pretend to understand

And I am not talking about

just Spanish……………..Willis

I am talking about bad Spanish

Ebonics,Portuguese spoken by people

who sing instead of talk

Dew rags and drama

Lucys

And blunts and cuts

I am sorry

..The chores.
...The stores.
...Fresh air.
...Times Square

I cant wait until the first snow

The cold…………….. it kills the germs

It Drives people indoors

Where they belong

It Cuts off the smoke and the drunken singing

It Makes body parts that are shown

That are better served by not being shown at all

Go undercover where they belong

Yup its time to flee

You are my life

Good-bye, city strife.
Green Acres we are there.

I yearn for the cold

And its silence

I pine for the country life of silence and reflection

For the painless end of the summer