Rush.
Rush if you must
Rush toward solve-r-ism to a mirage of resolution and fleeting solution.
Rush if you must to evade the friction that gives spark to life.
Rush if you must
to spurious absolution.
To the death of art.

While the bridges are all burning the *** is spilling muck
Theatre for the lemmings as the critics pass the buck
A histrionic kingdom, we’re ruled by feeble mind
While we line up for our trophy, at the killing-line

The pendulum swung again
vertigo is taking hold
The pendulum swung again
The people do as they’re told

You say you hold the keys
To the higher plane
But as the hologram glitches
The goal post shifts again

The pendulum swung again
vertigo is taking hold
The pendulum swung again
People do as they’re told

And the people do as they’re told
And the people do as they’re told

The birds were telling me something about freedom and danger today.

I tried to understand.

Something about how a bird without a home may feel lost, not free.

That freedom needs a place to go to ground, to rest.

Otherwise freedom may feel like flying circles over an ocean with no land in sight.

Painted a devil on every face
Lest he find me unaware
Looked for him in everyone
Looked for him everywhere

Turned every saint into a sinner
In the hell scape of my mind
And on a breath of ambiguity
I’d leave them all behind

But here’s some grace my timid heart:
When trust had only met despair  
Of course you saw a devil
In everyone and everywhere

And now you know with a wiser heart
We are neither gods nor ghouls
but a clumsy dance between the two
We’re all wise men and all fools

We loved the rain for its rebellion on time
The way that heavy skies defied the hour
And the blanket of clouds said rest now
This day is for you
To stay in bed with your lover
Or a book that understands you
The way the sky roiled low and dark
Not to smother or drown us
But to antidote our time poison
And wash us back into that which we are.
Infinite

These feelings we malign as demons
And the ones we revere as gods

Have us clawing at our ears
to mute a painful crucible
And grasping for a lofty comfort which inevitably rots

My hands stretch before me
Fingers Lagging, drawing light
Watching me
curiously watching them,
with their ten knowing eyes.
A thousand snakes
with oil-slick skin
Writhe peaceably together
in omnipotent melody
They do not worry,
about their radiator,
Or taxes, or time.
Passers-by:
Their voices float to me
through layers of sticky amber
Warming their tones
to a psychedelic dance.
The leaves whisper as I breathe,
A symbiotic flamenco
My mother has done well,
I'm told
My son is kind.
My daughter is afraid,
But brave.