Life That (day 1231)

This isn’t my coming out chant
This isn’t my remember the good ol’ days rap
No, this isn’t the kind of shit you’d expect from me
Where soft glow combines with a real desire
Spreading out like wings

No, this is a truth experiment
This is raw discussion
Morphine true-isms
Blisters spreading about the exposé
Peeling back: non-relent

You see, nothing’s been hard
No part of life’s been a chore
There’s never a day gone by
When I’ve been forced to stare at the walls
So uncomfortably spread that rot is my vice

There’s a dollar sign around my halo
With uncomfortable silence when bills drop on bills
There’s a memo on my desk
Reminding me to keep track of the present

This all fails to phase me
Rolling around in steel balls that shatters silently
When haters start slinging their gorilla lyrics
Hiding in my deepen’d billfold
And there’s glass, there’s glass scraping little lines
Across my weather strengthened back

Yet, I’m not your typical chump
Squealing my daddies gold in rubber exhaust
I’m a hustler crushing pimp
Not a player pickin’ easy cherries
Playing a role, playin a mother fuckin role
Buying into a toll booth
That flips my hard edge into
Magnified chocolates and fluffed pillows
And a silk god damn flower

I take opportunities in the present
The big rolls that die hard
Rise and fall, and rise again
It’s my game, I take two dollars
Exchange them into five
Because I’ve been bred well
Learned from the best
I’ve taken one-two-three strategy
Added on my own strong fourth

Funny thing about this mastery
Is the only competition I find
Comes out from where the wolves hide
From the silent arch ways
That reach out and bite when you turn your back and hide
I fight it, with intelligence…
With awareness and exposition

Omnipresence is not a myth
Omnipresence manhandles the unaware
Blissfully slouching at the solid wood table

My Land | Chapter III (day 1126)

I remember when the wind blew so hard one year it would blow over our tin cups that weren’t full on the old weathered kitchen table. Our house was warm when the fire was hot, and well ventilated in the summer – we can say that. It ain’t easy being a pioneer, when the land is dry and winters are cold.

The thoughts drain my efforts, drain my life. They’re happy thoughts when you remember the past, but they’re also jagged edges that twist the time away like yesterday was my mothers hand.

There should be holes in my heart with all the bullets I’ve let go. And all the tears that I’ve cried.

This life makes a man hard before he knows how to sing. Like the twisting pines around these parts that I know each by name.

And firewood.

[note: to read the full epic track my land]

Never Anarchy Love (day 1045)

It’s never the end all
The catch your breath
And look back a second time.
It’s never anarchy,
Two bits vying for love.
It’s a death trap,
And Boris is dead.

We aren’t the restless,
We’re the owners:
Ruthless and cheap.
Talking back and rigging it,
Cheap thrills and lose tongues
And leaving worthless, spent.

Cause I’m not alive
– Horribly penniless –
Missing all the good times.
I walk with arms open
For your outstretched revolution
To move my soul.
To catch me
To look back and
For all my breath, moments
Stretched into life and death.

Turn the Page (day 970)

Today my wings fell off
Gravity took them from me
Curling and twisting the whole way down
Smashing as they hit the ground

For a moment I stood there
Dumbstruck
Unaware where life will lead
Unsure how life can continue

I bound what was left of my wings
Like one would a broken toy
Desperately holding onto memories
Avoiding change

My tail between my legs
I moped on, off into my distance
One mixed between here and there
A mirage straddling the line

The Sapling and I (day 919)

Windy meadows that long ago
Were stripped of all their life:
Elegant firs, long needled pine
And birch that peels around.

They’ve all been reaped
Into a heap;
Grinding and turning
Paving and spreading
Strip malls and sidewalks.

All in the name of progress.
In belief of and for
Settlers heading west.

But where was I at these round tables
Where was my voice of reason?
Was I asked for my steady thoughts
To protect our mother’s children?

For now I am to blame.
Here to suffer
To pull at breath and
Leave my anguish at the door;
Kick off my factory shoes,
Step into my factory warmth,
And yawn my factory toil.

I am not anymore the savior sun;
A strong branch upon a tree
Deep within the forest.

But I am a sapling reaching up
Into the sky above.
A sign of life, natures life:
An orb of sweet Gaia

2013.05.09 - Prince George Spring (63 of 100)

The Flood (day 883)

Passion floods my blood soaked eyes
Laying dormant towards the sky
Fallen lifeless amidst debris
All life has ceased to be with me

For fuel once burned deeply within
A heart so true; nearly sin
That clogged the eyes searching about
Destined for truth, a heavy clout

Long had land been free to me
To wander about in unbound glee
Drained clean this heart of all its blood
To life that guides on in an empty flood