I’m getting carried away again,
or am I letting myself?

The river runs deep and reaps what leeches sow
blood in the mud but the mood is on buds
beaches of cheap seats to a preaching of Mother’s own
muting the boots of cubic shooting suits

The currents pull is incredibly strong;
but I might just be pushing too hard.

Blessed by a crest that’d test a jest-besting guest
watch ‘em swamped n’ stomped by a real wallop of a wave
a new craze of cadence encased in layers of nets
left bereft guessing at the message in a maze

It’s draining me of strength:
and filling me with calm

A new time as old as one that few knew
but it cues a new attitude: a shoe in for blues
refuses to stew on intrusions of youth
infusing a juice of consumable roots