Unwanted (day 2673)

Backsplashes of humanity
Claim our paths;
We dictate the channel
But they: the message.
We drive their inventions forth,
Their shovels we work
Their dynamite blows up
What we never knew we didn’t want
And our earth
Becomes circumnavigated
With their asphalt
That inevitably cracks
Exposing all truths
That we’ve all chosen
To drive over.
But where does motivation arise?
How do we drag out
Our revolution machines
To fight each sublimality?

We wake at the crack of dawn
And march.

Should you sleep in,
Ahould you wish for warmer weather
Or a less hostile arousal,
Should you demand more luxury
In the face of destruction,
Well, for you in your warm socks
And pillowed existence
For you
The revolution shall end your pain.

My Chin (day 2226)

A cheap drink rolled down my chin
As I lay motionless
Stuck in a window of thought
With a naked Lady hugging my shoulder
Purring softly with a story I’m not listening to.

My eyes remember a hot evening smell
Coming from the loins of love
When I licked what I wanted to
And kissed all the rest,
Passion I long ago learned to evoke
Just like my firm grip
Of the buttox of my lover.

Drawn back in with her heat, her arousal
By a finger drawing figures I’m left guessing about on my chest
I smell her hair, tucked beneath my chin
And remember the cigar I had smoked earlier
How it had lingered in my nostrils and danced with smoke
She looked at me and kissed the liquor from my chin
Whispering words I’ve love her for madly.

Bushy Eyes (day 1052)

You kind of end up asking the questions that resonate, that jive, that give way to concerned thought and pulsing consciousness. But this is ok, because we’re not supposed to be answering all the questions in monotone, in urban drawl.

Suicide mission.

And when you forget where you live like some kind of filtering drain spout garberating windowless dreams down conformity’s empty hole, you hesitate to ask the questions like my three lettered ‘why’.

It’s going to be ok because I’m going to strap on my wide brimmed cap and lift my eyes towards soulless sunsets and ignore the white short legged dogs roaming these parts. I don’t pat your back because I’ve got angels leaving dust spots, I pat your back because my bushy eyes have bat one – then the other – eye lashes; together independently.

How many moon cries, moon cries.

Leave my moonshine on the dog leash and flatten my glass nose-hips to rose my soft songs. I’m not a lover, I’m a lost song with in-articulate mumbles. I’m Bob Dylan relaxing on the beach with god-spoken sun beams brightening up my day. Loose my verbage you tongue tied nymph dancing about my state of arousal.

Who’s excuse is better? Who is remarkably left alone and wishing for silence. Who’s hands are rattling about the tin drum.

Who is resonating?

Health (day 212)

The consumption clogs the hallways
Deep within the darkest corners of the buying stations
Slopes of plastics enters the sea

Free our trees and hold our hands
Lets make a change for a better land

Arousal of the senses
Clean off the health chips
Make the change to freedom abroad

Cool your showers off in spite the greed
And lean your weight in

Lets make this a plan and hold all debits
Clear the mind of deathly consumption bug
Leave your hands swollen with pride