The Secret Technology                              

It is a home in the ear here
It is a light house/home for birds whose tearing
It is prairie home on this grey island of porridge
It is glued together with sea, a strung
It is the back of a whale, the back of a whale
It is umpteenth I said sign please this
It is in voices designed in white
It is go on in the blue airline evening
It is Jesus God, lift my enemy out and on you go
It is down, down in history like gold
It is in voices circling a misty museum of emo
It is the moth mother in a poetry visor
It is boss, hurry I can, hurry I can, fucker
It is this name copies over in rudimentary red
It is sea sear, like a dress you