You’d think us all farmers who toil
At this vast fertile soil
Tapping each network of roots
For the system that bears the best fruits

Though this is how we communicate
There are better ways to tend
Than seeing trees as disposable saplings
From which to ****** a date

With this smorgasbord of choice, I find
We all suffer a tell tale fate
Of being plucked from the stem
Half-heartedly nibbled upon the rind

Then silently thrown upon the rest
A wave unable to crest
Why not show some purpose on the ranch
Consider the date that was once on the branch

Instead we hear the same sad song
About the forgotten fruit of the palm
Condemned without a word
Left to their thoughts inferred

So maybe farmer’s the wrong term
They care for each flower, seedling, and worm
Creating darkness and dead air
Only leaves one famished and impaired

That said, I never hold delusions of hope
Thinking thumbs are stiff or broke
I’d rather pour myself a glass and toast
To all of the liches, nymphs, and ghosts

Pagoda, Pagoda,
My humble terrace by the sea.
Wayshrine for the hopeless
and the seekers of eternal ecstasy.
Why do they mistreat you so?
Ever accepting of our whimsical, hedonic presence,
you gave us shelter from the slobbering pigs and their execution sentence.
And still they ripped your gleaming limbs from you.
Those who claimed to love you.

Pagoda, Pagoda
so far from the corporate machine
living in an emerald midsummer dream
we must have lost our way along the chemical shores.
When the harsh confines of reality glared at my salt stained face
you treated me to warm freedom and a welcoming embrace
despite my turning a blind eye to your pain
and the savages who left you discarded.

Pagoda, Pagoda,
you were left hastily deserted
once summers tender muscles were exerted
and the liches stretched their frigid claws once again.
Now just an  ashen memory
while we count the hours in this glacial penitentiary
and wait for the beacon to bless us with its lazy gaze
and the return of our boardwalk paradise.

Sent in shred was flakes of obsidian and jade
It'll be weird to sell it
but I bet it'll get me
laid because I'm handsome and brown.

I frown at the lack of respects all the liches and hoes sow in our corn fields.

Build me better people and I'll send you hell in a sugar built steeple you can sell and ride while you send us to hell