Can I Kick It?
I kick it. I swerve it. I create my life with verbs man.
The beat of bass. The strum of drums. The pound of hearts. The pulse of life.
Energy is everthing and everything is energy. I have a vision see. That s beyond currency.
I look around roomz. I listen to others wordz. I feel a difference between me and the heardz.
Sometimes I feel cursed. Most often I feel worse.
Fear is the compass guiding hearts and heads.
Magnetized by longing for acceptance
Thus rejecting ones true essence
Confessions in quite nights and soulful hours of darkness
Sparkles of truth twinkle in midnight rumblings.
MTV becomes the soma for solace
Quelling pain with vicarious injections of lives that aren’t real
Reels and reels and reels manipulated to create real
From terminator to governor
Our world is one giant media pearl
Wizards of ozzie
Are born and birthed.
Bred and fed.
Raised and praised.
Fleeced then slaughtered.
But first buttered and cottled.
To maximize the beef they provide.
I sigh.
Deep breathe. Enters my brain.
Toxins. Of course.
Do I know the difference. Do I care. Do I exist tomorrow?
Or borrow another day another name another plane.
What of wayz beyond this day and age.
If you speak futuristically you are called a freak.
If you wallow historically you become out of date.
If you become the moment, you can’t exist as normal.
Become an Alien
“an alien is just being yourself, when people don’t understand you”
green heads and webbed fingers.
Muted eyes. And scaley skin.
Giant heads. And radioactive dreads.
Is how I feel when I listen to the world news
My views are mine. Seen only in my minds eye.
I try to communicate with verbs .
But feel more connected by the moves of birds.
Swoopz and glides. They exist outside the conceptual I.
Do I.
Sometimes. When I write.
I become a kite. On the string of my own beat.
Lead only by the wind.
Contained only by my vision.
Exorcism of hate. Emancipation of peoples bate.
Soaring in the music. Bouncing in the possible.
Rhetorical demonstratives leave me feelin monster like
I wonder and wander through past, present and future
I try to make cents into sense
And end up on a fence.
Which way to go.
Forward. Progress of course.
Is off course.
Says who?
The man behind the man behind the MAN.
Is a woman.
And she sits in nakedness, looking into a pool of possibility.
Her reflection dances In her eyes.
A superimposition of the universe.
In a single verse.
Whats worse?
Makinge sense or making cents?
I make amends.
With my own conscience
By writing sans thinking.
To find the inkling
Of me.
See?
Saw?
Can I kick it?
I kick it. I swerve it. I create my life with verbs man.
The beat of bass. The strum of drums. The pound of hearts. The pulse of life.
Energy is everthing and everything is energy. I have a vision see. That s beyond currency.
I look around roomz. I listen to others wordz. I feel a difference between me and the heardz.
Sometimes I feel cursed. Most often I feel worse.
Fear is the compass guiding hearts and heads.
Magnetized by longing for acceptance
Thus rejecting ones true essence
Confessions in quite nights and soulful hours of darkness
Sparkles of truth twinkle in midnight rumblings.
MTV becomes the soma for solace
Quelling pain with vicarious injections of lives that aren’t real
Reels and reels and reels manipulated to create real
From terminator to governor
Our world is one giant media pearl
Wizards of ozzie
Are born and birthed.
Bred and fed.
Raised and praised.
Fleeced then slaughtered.
But first buttered and cottled.
To maximize the beef they provide.
I sigh.
Deep breathe. Enters my brain.
Toxins. Of course.
Do I know the difference. Do I care. Do I exist tomorrow?
Or borrow another day another name another plane.
What of wayz beyond this day and age.
If you speak futuristically you are called a freak.
If you wallow historically you become out of date.
If you become the moment, you can’t exist as normal.
Become an Alien
“an alien is just being yourself, when people don’t understand you”
green heads and webbed fingers.
Muted eyes. And scaley skin.
Giant heads. And radioactive dreads.
Is how I feel when I listen to the world news
My views are mine. Seen only in my minds eye.
I try to communicate with verbs .
But feel more connected by the moves of birds.
Swoopz and glides. They exist outside the conceptual I.
Do I.
Sometimes. When I write.
I become a kite. On the string of my own beat.
Lead only by the wind.
Contained only by my vision.
Exorcism of hate. Emancipation of peoples bate.
Soaring in the music. Bouncing in the possible.
Rhetorical demonstratives leave me feelin monster like
I wonder and wander through past, present and future
I try to make cents into sense
And end up on a fence.
Which way to go.
Forward. Progress of course.
Is off course.
Says who?
The man behind the man behind the MAN.
Is a woman.
And she sits in nakedness, looking into a pool of possibility.
Her reflection dances In her eyes.
A superimposition of the universe.
In a single verse.
Whats worse?
Makinge sense or making cents?
I make amends.
With my own conscience
By writing sans thinking.
To find the inkling
Of me.
See?
Saw?
Can I kick it?
posted by JPS at 9:21 PM
0 comments
