And it's in the deep mud, in the transcendental meditation of mud, mud. Mud.

Guy Clark said we was just sloggin through it, life and death just dancin round in the mud.

This sad sad neglected site was just the earth. The broken fins of the fish, and no call lists and all the times we never heard from you, we're all just the torrents which soak the dirt.

But you aint' got mud till you stir it. Stir it and get it between yer fingers and in tiny spots along your nose.

I'm sorry you fast little crawfish, you google image search, it's time to bake the bricks. A broken limb, a bee sting, waits.

After all, the dirt is better when blowing off the ruffles of a skirt, and science likes his water higher than the wind and closer to the moon.

What goes on above is the last and greatest thing to happen right before you red this.

In the meditation of mud, mud. The Slip and the Mud.