Lost in my train of thought by the tracks of the wayward wind the consequence of my bliss was insubstantial A card was played and gone with the wind Torrential and self-evident In asking a civil question: "Is this train for passengers?" "Freight", was the bystander's answer. A frayed knot in this golden thread ensued And in parting ways in the eager substantiation With a delusion of Grandeur I realized, in trepidation that the jump was too far. If the hero couldn't make the change... Some doors lead to concrete dreams, Like a door to nowhere for physicality. When a boundless imagination becomes relentless, I wandered onward as Emily did, to the iniquitous den of a Charlies Angel. Looking for an impression in her impersonation Twas a sticky situation between cars & guitars, Allowing for the solidification of my tart spirit As vines thickened In the explanation of this perfunctory life's tapestry Narrowly escaping the ill raven's search For the early bird's worm I had complicated a rainy day When calling from a great distance Required for each slippery step One rung in the stolen ladder As Jacob is in a fit About the cacophony of cataclysmic quagmires Meandering about with slight contempt & trepidation Yet calm in the carefully constructed woes of happenstance Now home Not to mother in a cardboard box Home is where the heart is... Nothing to hide no matter where you are Nothing to fear if you have nothing to hide Skies open wide in the din of the day Keeping a lid on a parched Pandora's wish I can't turn the page of frozen celluloid Because she's a laborious chapter Just don't throw the book at me It will only truly land In the hands of the devil Whipped by his tale And slightly singed in the danger That didn't exist in the first place Of an afternoon meandering in hopes of a glimpse of her treasure by the abandoned tracks...
Circuitry Eternal
In the eyes of a mortal soul And in the consequence of dreams Enclosed in microcosms of circuitry Dusting the gray matters with a tell-tale broom Down sealed corridors long forgotten A janitor touches upon a legacy of humanity In static shoes... Not knowing the sheer density Of the chip on his shoulder In the memory that is volatile Oblivious and loyal He kisses his server Tucks away his transistor radio With a half a bar of soap And a tattered comb He senses that people still exist But can't be for sure Knowing that in the eyes of his canine friend His world can never mend He sweeps away his tears Of a world he once knew When neighbors threw parties Before the Ending War blues Every now and then He grasps one hand with the other Reminding himself That his hands are real As a golden rule on a deeply seated plaque “To err is contrary to the perfect output of the Divine” He's been hoping the plaque would disappear Before it had appeared As a dumbwaiter contraption Set to rise and fall every 10,000 years Once he ate breakfast on it out of spite Only to have nightmares late at night Anytime of day He did not know when And felt more dirty The more he cleansed He would sing: 'Oh Lord pretty blu Bright immortal eyes Lucifer is shinin pretty blu quickenin his bow In da flames I know dat Heaven I know there be roads of gravel sure no streets of gold I do what I'm told pretty blu twinkle star O' Bethlehem won't you shine on me?'
One day he wandered a little beyond with a drink in hand Very old brandy In a small leather flask
Peering over the rail and falling Infinity stole him Smashing the labyrinth Of the only circuitry remaining And the only circuitry needed Containing everything ever experienced By humankind He laughed as his life fizzled away And suddenly Everyone had no recollection Of the virtual world that once enveloped Reality in limbo His broomstick sank to the very bottom And all was forgotten...
Lament of The Blind Record Weasel
Violation of monolith proportions To the dog faced boy who shouted too loudly In his formative years obsessing about the woman He didn't add up but the figures did... Both as witnesses as well as a hidden prophet He was thinking about ghosts in the wind The unclear channel was surfed routinely A fun dead venture to sell to the masses And further pursue the taboo Of making invisible The difference Betwixt fiction and reality Getting out of this state Like a sample in a jar A state of moot affairs and oracle territory In order to preserve The Deal Motion the mad soulless wonder To the questioning table And we'll keep his brain To examine... Mother will keep the filters on high To mask home conversation What seemed so alien was his violently happy human behavior Wishing he was here with Alice and Sid We've learned so much from him Too much to reveal in science... Illuminati Mafia scoring media focus And make dollars from his stories He might think he's already died It's later than you think ... you might want something to drink Isn't it ironic that his sanity remains Despite a blissful existence He won't be riding the gravy train with a new record Paranoia just doesn't hold water To a child who needs water Amidst more pressing matters Mind over matter Ghosts in the machine To coin a phrase with a tie that binds Match making spirits in the material world...