you swing all mystery
as if it were a bat
a bat marred with the clay
god used on the fateful day
when he made man
but do you play ball?
no, I don’t think you do.
but I think that the cruel unfaithful boyfriend
you beat to death with it used to
I want to taste the pantheon
that burns within your diamond skin
all we know of you is what you’re not
a whisper from a shadow
You’re the Atlantic Yeti priestess of a UFO cult
but it’s just a shitty day job, you’re pure
novelty and wisdom incarnate
at night you ride penguin-back
under the stars
dive into the sea
where man throws all his misbegotten monsters
I want to swim in pas de deux
a heathen to your sinless blue
as the mouse-wheel of a world I knew
vanishes from view
I want to drown in search of you
I never want to find you
Crash City Saints are Kalamazoo, Michigan's timeworn torch-bearing shoegazers. Josh Garman is my friend and psychedelic hero. Keep fighting the good fight, brother! UUNO
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