Up on the HILLS we are!
Standing naked the youth to FALL!
Naked breathing with a literary remembrance
That breathes not us
But something altogether UNJUST
To tell the scroll of KEROUAC GINSBERG
A metamorphised aftermath of a place to go from there
We are too connected to fake to be connected
We just don't choose to
SPEAKE
At last we are standing face to face
And yet we would rather choose
DEATH
We would rather choose to say a closeted
HELLO
Stones bury themselves so they do not see the
Sun shine
Sand worries as it spits on itself again & again
Just to tell itself it is SANE
Mr. D stays an outlaw as He's always believed He's been
Much like Jesus
Who's running
From supposed
Judas
My heroes are hemming their jeans
Just to stay safe
From a labeled faith
At last the skies are open an music'
Oh' music
Shows its true tragic face
At last the flower
With all its power
Reveals the teal
That has always shown itself to me
So real
Illuminations
Dear Rimbaud
In your commerced grave
That you once thought was naive'
Spins as fast as you wish it
Rolls even quicker
Unless you can pin it
Neither I nor I can tell where the world will hold itself tomorrow
For the future
Can never be justly sold or
Told