There’s a fountain of experience
in waiting reality, though it smirks.
It is in waiting to be lived. Life it
in a relentless form. Those
who do not drink from the fountain,
will die, thirsting after the bitterness
of lingering ignorance. Yielding
trends, laughing-face at history,
the normality of it-all. Tempting
and easy - isn’t it?
(In dedication to my brethren Bones,
writing poetry again, I’m free again.
The sun may rise in the east,
It sets in the west. Babylon don’t test.
Rough and ready, bourgeois bow
your head in shame. Militant and ready
us outlaws are.mysticism took over
my soul and now I’m force to ride,
hard to **** when I’m unloading my AK.
Guess I wasn’t tripping, when I saw
them for the second time rolling by.
I wish they’ll do it in my sleep.And it’s
time to be a ghost.)