Fill every beat with something
(from Oblique Strategies by Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt)

Fill it near the rim, but not all the way. A cup can hold so much,
and so can we. The news is dreadful: wars, pestilence, persistent

folly. But half full we only stand half a chance at redemption,
cries the right, who stand up, sit down fight fight fight every

mother loving minute of the day. Can you imagine? They must
be exhausted, having to fill every beat with something. When is

there ever a moment for a spot of tea or a beat salad? Beat it,
someone yelled when the baseball went through the neighbor's

window. No one fessed up, confessed, there was no rest
for the wickedly criminal element. Without the beat beat beat

of the tom tom it's doubtful we'll ever get to any deeper under-
standing of who we are and if I were a doubting Thomas

I'd put in for a name change. Why must we fill every beat
with something, no silence or space on the page for a rest stop,

an end stop at the end of the L line? You bet your boots
my father always said, and then, fool, you'll be shoeless.

I think it was his bête noir, though I can't be sure. I'm just
learning French, every two franc word I can think of.

He also said if there's some question which way to turn,
left or right, bet on the dark horse; he won't disappoint.