Tuesday, February 1, 2011


electric bicycle

white chick running by I know

the bus is never coming

and the sun is still getting high

I’m so toasty

I’m bakin’

takin’ in my turn

my words are burning

forget them!

I feel ashed out like a cigarette

tapped on the boot like a pipe

lit all night in the dark

chocolate blackness of the moist air

sometimes dreams are not sweet but sour

sometimes I’m running from something

but I get this rush off the chase

the hunt or the game or whatever

you want it to be

I’m fighting for my life

or maybe fighting living it

feigning desire for freedom

but really killing my own by

risking everything for shallow independence

perhaps I’m just greedy and wicked

in pending vengeance for the defenseless

stripped naked child of an ego

refusing to let go of this sick urge

for black market cash

this whole scheme will lash back and

it needs to be changed

you know

I’ve aged

and realize now

a new face of crime is


the creative nature

extracts the ancients mother

with my mixture comes a new scheme

or another world+

No comments:

Post a Comment