I hate those Voodoo mornings when I cant dig myself out of my own head a relentless quipping chirping anxiety over woulda coulda shoulda wishing I knew better wondering why I dont silent resolutions that evaporate by days end pondering the infinite insignificance of everything that is nothing paranoid that nothing is in fact everything in the doomed hands of a salvation without mercy heavy hearted in the dark waiting for light to peek through the blinds and tell me that its ok to be awake its a lie but thats ok too I guess **** it might as well make the coffee
Higher than ever,
my heart rolls down a river.
Carried by the smoke.
Over the years the notes play on
The music gets old so we write new songs
Practice our words and keep them in key
Times to change then repeat the beats
Patterns I hastily strum
Unique precisions I pick
I am but a fungus in the forest
A back woods hick
The flower, the ****
***** my guitar
I am an ember in the fire
Music is indeed my greatest desire
I know you play a lot, work a lot and proly can't tell it apart.
So after working games and playing work
you sat down wrote **** while smoking poetry.
Not aging with every hour that went by.
But by and by you grew high,
oh my 70years high as the **** withers old and is cremated white ash scattered in the sea of dust.
Wisdom is a ****
Will the people I get ****** with
Put stones on my grave
When the masses decide to stone me
Will they laugh or turn away
When there’s roaches in the kitchen
And not in the ash try
Will they look for someone better
Or will they stick with me till it’s okay
I love you, even though at times you are the **** in my garden.
Seventies **** is
so ******* over-rated
and outdated, smoke
the killer **** and
down the whole eighth
of Blueberry Haze straight
to my head.
It's like I'm feeling heavy,
got two fifteens in the back
of my homeboy's chevy.
Steal everything, if it's
not bolted down,
believe it's in the back
of my house by the shed G.
I live in the land of plenty,
good and ready, ready
for whatever, got
my ***** from the jetty.
You got your *****
from the levee.
Feast on the sedimentary
layers of the Hātea.
Don't ask me, I have abso-friggin-lutely no idea what I was aiming for.
the exhaust from craving to spend my days under the sun with you has filled my room with smoke
My lips were just a faint flush of what was and what could have been.
The curious spark of youth in my eyes was getting old & cynical.
And even though my hair may be a statement of Summer, my heart had always been the daughter of it’s polar season.
But now, there is a fire to my cheeks I’ve never felt before; a blush so radiant that a rose pales in comparison.