I rode the crested waves
that graced the coptic sea
And crashed into the shores
of North Africa

The water was as warm
The blood hotter still
No one went on living
unless they had the will

You never made a friend
nor aquaintence by the hill
Life was sweet and short
Too easy to be killed

Your best friend was a bottle
A cigarette would do
And in emergencies
a colt 45 was too

We smuggled guns and roses
across the white hot sands and dunes
We bartered in broken languages
while whistling a softer tune

With a third eye looking back
where bullets would fall as rain
On our way to Gibraltar
One dip salute , rev the engine of the plane

There is no water to quench you
To wash away the sins
The waves of guilt run over you
They bring the sharks with fins

The old songs don’t feel right
wrong key, out of tune
somebody wake Sinatra
reclaim these wayward melodies
My Way, New York
New York
seat of the Queen
a gilded new King
everything he touches
Gold

money equals tower
Freudian crystal skyscrapers
the fitting measure
of a brittle man
who has not strength
to speak the truth
recites instead from
a book of fables
the moral to every one
those in glass houses
shouldn’t throw stones

the town crier proclaims
the truth does not matter
no one cares

hold tight that red hat
lest it be snatched
by a rebellious wind
see it now, a symbol
framed in white and blue
rising above the crowd
boots on the ground speak
shiny brass buttons
on a pert military coat
don’t a revolutionary make

the peddler of lies is just
a liar once-removed
“alternative facts”
brash fabrications
with a fancy semantic bow
such a pretty package
such a pretty family
the biggest crowd
in all of history
let the whole world

Witness

this most
perfect union

Reality and time had been bonded from there inception
a woven masterpiece of continuity,
but what happens when the infinity of both climaxes at
the finite moment of infinity.

Ubiquity was just a flicker, an elongated reference to
what was deliberation. Neither had expected this,
time thought it was a complexity  of reflections that
were neither then, now or beyond. but It was slowing.

Existence, cohesion was a momentary thought,
without reality, what was keeping thought in check?
For when one was to think, realism was strained as
what could be, would be exhibited in the fabric of now.

Reality and time were being deprived of the fabric
that wove them as one, a coupling of eternity.
But time was perceiving that which wasn't far from
the certainty, that its moments were departing .

As all became inanimate, and time stood static.
Reality conceived that she was moments away
from her departing. And she held on too time,
he grasped the reality of what was ending.

*"We are only a moment, a presence that will eventually
end, this is reality this is the meaning of time,

People don truly know
What its like to let you go

i am so relieved yet so sad
About everything we've ever had

It was best thing i could've done
But now life is nor risky nor fun

But you're to blind to see
The mess you made of me