It aint age.
It ain't sex.
It ain't race, religion, height,
gender, color, class or learning.
It's path, progress and position.
The road not not taken.
Be here now.
O eyes unseeing
O ears unearned.
We're all perfect potential
cept maybe republicans, lawyers,
the true organized crime called police
the true whores called priests.
You can walk on water IF water wants.
There ain't no dark night's ungentle light.
Ain't nothing outside but lies.
But even lie true ain't for you.
Don't need no god.
No catholic pimp pushing blood feast.
My lie's mine.
Walk my own walk.
Fuck the talk.
Grasshoppers gone wrong become ants.
Bad ants cry uncle, cry wolf, cry baby.
Goats goad sacrifice to sun.
Ritual requires repetition, release.
Nothing stays river's run
but drought's dry dirt
(and river still runs).
Run your ears together.
Start a fire.
Let gone go.
Listen. Alone This Train
I look to pain to gain
Sleep devoid of sheep
And master's muster walk
Or talk of tinkers' conforming will
Alone this train
I see you born
To teach to cheat
Your fly from famine
Decayed in safety's slumber
You briefcased fellows
Bellow farts to follow
Of high topped fashion
Passion fish not flesh
Hurried waters sleek in sinning
Shower lies and cry forgetting
Licking compulsion's flesh
This land is long, and lost in shadow
Her sweets succinctly sour