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Yo
I used to have a rope ladder but tattered were the rungs,
I strung it from the highest willow, trying to hug the sun.
The seventh level buckled and I tumbled from the summit,
Now I'm back to re-climb and this time light my cigarette from it.
My stitchin division to vision warfares numb enough to soak suddenly in a bullet bath
and skip stones in the morning as I,
Lie in color phantom tantrum explicable, sit and pull the petals off wild flower patches,
Magic happens!
Behold, pity the lowlife parish.
Doom City barracks left remorse coursed on a horse-drawn carriage by the torch of Polaris
To the Badlands, where every bridge collapse right where the crowd stands,
Where the witches are fireproof and every preacher's a madman.
Frigid be the appleseed demeanor towards the bay where the landshark Parliament swims
When they pause to polish they fins.
The better brains will preach the village through the city square
to the light, heavy and middle-weight integrate,
Slept with sticks and stones in my pillowcase.
Ooh my bomb's light simulator picks barnacles off the tugboat belly
Left my spirit home in a shoebox in case I die.
Got a rugged smoke-green halo floatin’ inches off the swamp,
Had that phase when the devil tree contacts a sparkle in my eye.
Now step back from the reservoir and let the settlers drink,
Salvage all priorities and iron out all kinks.
My house ain't made of bricks and straw but never has it crumbled,
Cuz I stitched the brain's rigidity with symmetry,
Come visit me,
It's fascinating.
