Her veins embue the nectar of creativity--
the euphoric taste is addicting,
and we **** every last drop
like a cigarette 'till her body withers
into ashes.

Many of artist like me are demon mosquitos
with piercing, burning fangs gnawing
on the raw juicy meat
with blood dripping down our chins
until our hunger is satisfied
& the moment is lifeless.
Even then we wrap ourselves around the carcass
like a python to squeeze out every last drop....

The bones are art, or a poem: souvenirs
to show our dominance.

go with your flow cause when you hold
on to fear it slows everyone down
like when your clothes get soaked.
Aren't you tired of listening to that cold sounding channel?
Switching frequencies to love is like donning
a warm flannel blanket but
our minds are a storm of thoughts pouring
down in a rusty trough filled w/ GMO foods
bathed in pesticides--
we've forgotten the well deep inside ourselves
it transcends space and time cause
we're with the divine one teaching us lessons like
a father does with sons and sometimes we don't understand,
it's ok, we're human
class is always in session
jamming like musicians listening for the groove--
the beat and rhythm our self produces to dance to,
a soothing tune like fresh water splashing our dry tongue
a song sung from nourished hearts
where every action is artistic as we listen to our one connection
hitting our ear playing our lungs like bagpipes
bodies in vibration swaying with reckless abandon
dancing like when man first discovered fire
to enlighten up a whole nation.