The keys start
To ring in the
New way of hope
Dashing in front of the
Eyes and
The ears with all
The pedestrians mourning
Their new fallen and
Chosen one
Political maelstroms with fire
Rage on
Past history
Through history
Touching the ones that were
Already born again
Looking for the next big score
Awaiting something but
Not knowing what that is
A drink a buzz a drug a fix a love
That is easier to talk about
***** about
Whine about then
Actually find
Pain is the measurement of
All good things
For the one's that go through the fire
And live
Are the only ones able
To truthfully talk about it
The ride of the word
Is taught and see through
Like the glass of the imploding cathedral
Melting in on itself for the
Sins are starting to weigh too much
Recall too much
Uplifting our flabby watery meaty bodies
Up into the universe
(no longer called the heavens)
Mentioning no names of old friends
"That wasn't me...I have no idea who the **** that was"
Where instead of memories
There is only the hazy recollection
Of a good rough time
Where things were learned
Both on and off the report card
About everything and nothing
Which are
One and the same
And the streets - they are still there -
Shining with the cool caked *****
Of our dying unsettled hurricane soul like young ones
Searching for our new war
Pointing our mechanical internet riddled guns
To the white buildings built by black and brown and white hands
Removing all souls for the discount price
Calling down from the highest mountains
"There is no reason to be saved any LONGER!"
"FOR WE ALREADY ARE AND FOREVER WILL BE!"
Laughing riots caused by
Tear gas leaked from the newest sighting
Of the arch angels
Trembling sphinxes in their
Diamond casted tombs
Tell riddles of the river styx
Lucifer in his bath robe
Smoking the good cubans as
The real ones toil away in hot lavender sauna air
Mushroom clouds of forgiveness
Ashen yet still stating that life is unfair
I can speak no longer of the way things are and will be
There is no telling for the party still rages on
Where is this voice inside of me?
Who does it speak for and why?
I cry out that I have been framed by an unnamed!
Rimbaud had that cause once before
But he ventured off for the dollar
High squalor
A penny to his debauched leg but the legacy
Still rings true and carries on...
The snow still shines where did walk
The wind still blows the same
Not an answer to speak of
Only questions of poison and ****** and cool parked poach fish
Lines upon lines
None of them the same
A periwinkle twinkle of the hobos of the past
They tell their stories underneath draw bridges
As the pubs close down due to lack of glass
Nexus of nubile young school girls
White teeth and frothy feet
All the men walk their way
For a guilty chance of a meet