Apr 2015
Boulevard royalty mingling with animals in open cages
Instances become signposts for alleged tolerance
But it’s time to go back to the gates of where we’re from
To tell of speculative social forays to an adoring audience
Seamless air pockets provoking thought, constructing
miniature crosses piercing walls where painful paintings were hung
But you decided being a crow was better than being a rooster
There is no difference but black is the color of the song being sung
Passionately significant but intellectually deficient
Sensitive jealousies masquerading polemic tendencies
Dreads worn for life not for the fears of who would notice
An intrusive memory loss was all that could save their enemies
As ludicrous as foot stools for wheels or sleep when morning breaks
Social dynamics treated reservedly by contemporaneous mocking birds
Philistine rounder’s no more or less competent than square faced priests
Believe me, the time we forget is only because we cannot say the words
The story ended before the introduction did because they never met
The pre-text may be questioned but the post mortem changes nothing
The only evil that is selected are outrages that inoculate us from shock
Warm friendliness does not sink the rocky rapids that are no longer asking
Confounding lines of judgment and reckless carriages await their turn
Canon or pulp; equally intriguing depending on which way towards the sun
Systematic folding chairs gaze at danger but in the manner a priest would
He swallows before telling the congregation he is not a man or the one
The reconstruction of peace begins with a soft breeze and earth tones
Necessary or essential, it is all the same for the time it takes to be sane
Within the sacrament principle we beg pain to restrict our movements
Linguistically inexperienced emotionally spent will we ever be the same
Dreams of flying with leaves under wires calmly watching man fall short
Incantation pastoral discovery of what aspect we could never know
Until you feel nothing between lovers except what is written on the heart
The one who walked away will never know the one who told them so
Instances become signposts for alleged tolerance
But it’s time to go back to the gates of where we’re from
To tell of speculative social forays to an adoring audience
Seamless air pockets provoking thought, constructing
miniature crosses piercing walls where painful paintings were hung
But you decided being a crow was better than being a rooster
There is no difference but black is the color of the song being sung
Passionately significant but intellectually deficient
Sensitive jealousies masquerading polemic tendencies
Dreads worn for life not for the fears of who would notice
An intrusive memory loss was all that could save their enemies
As ludicrous as foot stools for wheels or sleep when morning breaks
Social dynamics treated reservedly by contemporaneous mocking birds
Philistine rounder’s no more or less competent than square faced priests
Believe me, the time we forget is only because we cannot say the words
The story ended before the introduction did because they never met
The pre-text may be questioned but the post mortem changes nothing
The only evil that is selected are outrages that inoculate us from shock
Warm friendliness does not sink the rocky rapids that are no longer asking
Confounding lines of judgment and reckless carriages await their turn
Canon or pulp; equally intriguing depending on which way towards the sun
Systematic folding chairs gaze at danger but in the manner a priest would
He swallows before telling the congregation he is not a man or the one
The reconstruction of peace begins with a soft breeze and earth tones
Necessary or essential, it is all the same for the time it takes to be sane
Within the sacrament principle we beg pain to restrict our movements
Linguistically inexperienced emotionally spent will we ever be the same
Dreams of flying with leaves under wires calmly watching man fall short
Incantation pastoral discovery of what aspect we could never know
Until you feel nothing between lovers except what is written on the heart
The one who walked away will never know the one who told them so
