Your sense of self worth
is at the birth
of your new consciousness.
Nonetheless, the best dressed
Still look ugly
When they are a mess;
And the messiest of the bunch
Can still clean up
When taken out to lunch.
Don’t go to church.
Never besmirch.
Label a king as a king
And a peasant
As a man who has no plan.
Ruling over all,
The king builds his own mountain
Down which to fall.
What goes up
Must be in the eye of the sky.
The moonlit days
Under the sun’s complicit rays
Leave no mainstay.
Soon, darkness is but a shade of grey.
The simplest of men
Are caught in the playpen
of following the crowd,
Playing the already written chorus,
Silently allowing mediocrity to bore us,
out loud!
Anything that is not allowed,
is as questionable
As the Jesus shroud.
Tired eyes and the sleeping mind.
The journey of this man,
The man who has no home to find,
No boundaries to call, “mine”,
‘tis a lonesome walk;
Sometimes, a stop and a balk!
The emptiness swells
Because of self-serving pennies
Clogging-up the wishing wells.
Everybody knows,
But nobody ever tells.
All the money gone,
All hearts poured into one song.
The twang
of the unbroken string
Shall ring and ring-
One note being its own sing-along!
The snapped cat whisker
Feels no mouse hole more brisker.
Toxic dirt
Has cast this flower
Out of bloom.
The latent, pretend smile
constantly remembers
the elephant in the room.
Marching to the same crowd.
Singing the same, old song
Heartlessly, out loud.
Recharge your crystal.
Grab another fistful
Of the salt
That’s thrown over
the conscientious shoulder
Of the Not-knower.
Scared by the flare of fate.
Plan B,
Loose trucks
And ground-down wheels
Are of late.
Off of the vine
is plucked something great!
Like the kid saved by the ape.
Gorilla gets shot,
As the world cries, “rape!”
Insidious jargon,
Human minds lost, far-gone.
The epicenter
of the beaten man’s heart
is so simple as you watch it crinkle.
Self-pity ends him at his start.
Bamboo chutes
In the Japanese woods
Are too short to sway
In tree-top dilapidated winds.
On top of the mountain,
Answers can be given,
But not found,
As if under a rock,
Or as real and wet
As the puddle-stepped-in sock!
The groovy beat
Of the man on stage,
Holding back his pain-
Pent up and painted-in,
Inside his own rage-cage.
Cocaine teeth
And secrets gone out to speak,
The president smoked pot,
But says he has not.
Innocence is only relevant,
And cognitive dissonance
is the room
which houses the elephant.
Untold, never bold.
The quietness of those people
Is the most boring story,
never untold.
As their non-action speaks
Louder
Than their unspoken word,
Their unique quality is baseless.
The stars of the cosmos
occupy Dark Matter’s spaces.
White boy music
And black girls who are useless.
Human race
To nowhere except right back to here!
The biker,
The motorcycle club vest.
The cop,
The judge,
The anarchist-
All have their displacement.
All belong in their own basements.
Red light
Camera,
Ticket
Rather be charged
By the woods and
Scratched by the thicket.
Thorns of roses,
Old skater no longer poses.
Up-turned noses
And the opportune door closes.
Bang on another one,
Or build anew- threshold!
St. Peter shakes his finger at me,
as I push on past,
to break my way in.
Malleable gates of gold,
Warped and bent,
for sinners repent.
Whose nose is out to be browned?
Out which comes the brown,
as the shit rules over this town.
Upside down frown,
Stepped-on shoe of the clown.
“Squeek!”
Blue-Pilled and Red nosed!
Mind opened, then closed,
Same as the revolving door.
No faith,
Not no more.
All I have left
Is to explore.
To be caught-up
In the sound of time
Makes purity a whore
to the unrefined mind.
In a place that has no sound,
In the face that is
the unpainted clown,
The mirror sees all,
Because it holds-on to nothing.
Eye-beams tell all
When nobody is looking.
No rest for the third eye.
No definition of the term, “I”.
To live is to die.
When you’re not ready,
You’re not ready.
It is not time.
You are defined, not
by what others seek to find.
You are neither defined
by what you call yourself
or what you call to be “”me,” and “mine.”
As rambling thoughts
belong only to the insane mind,
I blindly seek onward,
Losing sight of everything
I see and find.
Not many people understand
What I state.
Cut-off from the sane world,
I bide my own sense of time.
Room with no walls,
Sperm with no balls.
Graffiti carved into bathroom walls.
Relate, not.
Empty coin slot.
What is “It,” to one mind-
Is not “It,” to a new find!
Dark crystal,
Mosquito screen-hole.
Spying the hunter,
calling everything
by its rightful name
makes me the enemy
but not the one to blame.
One thought, placed beside the next-
Thoughts all always smell the same.
December 29, 2016 11:41 AM