I’ll be at the top of the lighthouse…
Lost with no float, no boat, no hope…
If I do ask them for something sincerely it may be the rope to choke.
And still I hangs, figuratively of course.
What’s the worst, that can happen, when clapping like round-of-applause,
at the Moon when she rises, or the Sun when he falls?
I let the pen ramble on and on about the paper in the form of ink blots,
This is um… mental thunderstorm weather,
Don’t be shocked, shit I’d rather be at home in this dressed for the inclement like sweats and socks.
Instead I’m at work working the atoms, making shifty fixes out of what these elements are brewing in cloud pots.
Lyrical add some zinc and iron to the milk in my bowl of Pops
I should say “They’re Grrrr-eat!!!” but that’s the wrong commercial.
At the very least I’ll include sex and cereal just to be mediocre controversial.
I mean sex sells right?
I deconstruct weird word frags and code into Excel formats,
Cool whip the shit out of adjectives and hit plank positions on them “welcome home” floor mats.
I sincerely hoped for Ali Babba’s flying rugs but instead I caught a ragged doormat with Lugz mud footprints.
****Kanye shrug**** while telling your tailored tailor you take pride in selling the sin.
Manifest your hero, see how well they compare to others; who will win?
My inspirations come forth from fantasy believers, corny ass thinkers that still believe in love stories.
So much so, we write ’em or is it more proper to say author, when not conversing about lust stories?
In line to challenge poets, if you may, to cosmic duels
Base-heavy on verbiage highs, laced heavily with metaphor-of-magnesia, built extraordinarily to oral print predatory verbs, raping queries, assault and battery in the essences of literature.
*****Photo credit due to: http://m.flickr.com/#/photos/bullibauert3/8601039264/