*Thank you music
Thank you words
Without you this poor boy would
Be of no worth.
Thank you warm blood,
thank you flow.
I am right where I need to go.*
Without music, i would be absolutely useless.
I would be that question hanging
at the ends of nooses
Food would taste bitter
time would be ruthless
I would be toothless
covered in bruises
music is my wife, and my mistress, and
my muses
music sweet mercy, i cannot refuse
music is my village
and the privelage i abuse
music is in my blood
and is something i can never lose
(thank you music)
my courage, my strength
my heart beat, my clock
the length of my life
the length of my walk
the silence of dreams
the language i talk
my passion, possesion
my leader, my flock
my every decision
my truest companion
music is magic
turning mountains into canyons
angelic abandon and
holy communion
creation, elation
death and destruction
(thank you music)
my ill, my cure
my color, my nation
my will, what is pure
my mother, my patience
my savior, my soul
my determination
what makes me whole
all of creation
the flow of my blood
the ground underfoot
a furious foot
reflection of soot
an old camels back
where everythin is put
and all that i see
when my eyes are shut
intimacy, and taught tangled treason
the sun, and the moon, the changing
of the seasons
my name and my mission
the moment I arrive
music is the reason, I am still alive.
**
If i were mute
and i could not write
im not quite sure i would survive
on meer sound and site
i think i might go crazy
if this were my plight
to write is a privilage
not what I am due.
Poetry Pillages
palpable paradimes
property pedalling
pigeons and palaces
poppers and preachers, push papers
and palpatate
postumous passion
perserveres and perpetuates
words make herds of men
and kindling of your kin
words are now and then
like shooting stars and breathing in
words will take you there again
and grow gardens in your grin, HA
please pass the pen so i can
scribble sins on my skin
paragraphs, sentences
punctuation parabells
plural posabilities
paralizing principles
penetration portraits
poorly painted with pistols
present, past, poets, prophets
pissing on pedastools
without words, I would be wasted
I am the moon soldier
defender of night
I am scattered stars and the
truth intoxicated
I am liberated, riding towards the light.
**