[Verse 1: Misnomer]
Enough.
I said enough.
Humongous Herculean promise, tarnished cerulean ocean
Offered to rule me as poet; honesty ruined the moment.
Comets descended to mend a meteors touch
Then slay the s**ers in craters that stay to feed on your trust.
The souls impact zone; the devil sits to practice tic-tac-toe
And listens in to the transmission when the kids rap slow,
So when the static clings to dreams like fabric tattered and torn,
Take the time to separate the truth from average forms
Of being fooled and fueled by drooling muses. Who the future
Knew what truth is if not through the tool of music; youth is useless.
Self-abuses; use if youthless, soon youre toothless, dying
Lying on a bed of sense (cents), alive and left to brood on brutal humans.
This, the life I choose to lead and never follow,
Swallow God until he nestles safely in my bodys hollow
And divinity can crest from every crevice and crack,
To crackle effort and honor in droplets of sweat off my back.
Alpha-waves align to pound this cage of scalp and brain amalgamate.
Im scalpel blade set down to page; cut out the frame around the crane;
Let mouth arrange a thousand angled sounds of angels bound in chains.
When paper down compounds, exclaim it loud, announce its name.
Wings will flap against the insignificance of things we can't prevent
And it's magnificent to breath a life in them when every second that they sing my dreams condense
Into a picture of deliverance I never could envision
But it's showing through the patches of the paper turned to feather;
Every letter new quill to the looseleaf plumage.
Bruise-prone muse finds hollow-bone poem lines useless,
Excepting when soul takes flight with the music,
Violent, effusive, violet and fuschia pinions rise and divide in amusement,
Flirt with the sky, recollide over rooftops.
Every ending is holy; not every hole is an end
If you mold dirt mole-nose first and descend,
You can search for the earth at the bend of the trench.
If you tend toward the bench, you'll be warm but depend
Full-bore on warped-would (wood) trend
And a willow weeps worse with an ent as a friend.
Roots sink deep, but a leaf will ascend
When it's torn from the sick tree, free to be cleansed
And believe that he leaves for the best damn reason he can.
Pleased to remember the time of the seed, not to mention the stem
They see through with ease he refuses to be that again.
Repeat times three, empty nest in the L-shaped crook in the branch
Where the shells may look sorta fractured and cracked
From a distance but what kind of witness would judge baby birds off that;
Just the serpent surrounding the world for a chance at a snack,
Flash wax moon tooth and it seems so relaxed,
Heave a sigh of relief, then the greenback snaps; fast as a dream he attacks.
Mankind is a phoenix in ash, molt flesh grotesque at the scene of collapse;
Egg laid, not a word, not a nurse, no learning. The chance for rebirth comes after the burning.
I said a chance for rebirth comes after the burning.