Door to the ascended fifth plateau
I-395, a two-bedroom suite
It is exceptionally seedy
In the figurative motel of ascension
Cockroaches tip the brim of the derby
The cap that crowns off this night
Where my creativity seeps back
Into my minds eye blinking
Thinking, sinking, into the paper
Making connections, and thoughts
Into ill-manufactured ideas
The protagonists of this soul epic
Are the pen, and the ink that is twisted
To express my wretched juxtaposition
Of feelings, and planks in the platform
Of the creaky floor of this seedy habitat
When all that is sought is satisfaction
…Never attained
Makes for interesting inner-monologue
To me articulated through verse
In monolithically small proportion
To what this is really about
This two-bedroom suite holds a special
Place in the darkest part of my mind
Dead to the distractions of a place all too near
Torn from creative dissension
Placed in this calm rundown place
Where I can seep into pressed trees
Of my medium, and flex these words I compose
In the prose of free verse, never couplets
I walk through the entrance; now an exit
Mister cockroach secures the deadbolt behind me
But he gave me a key, to the door of ascension
end
-------------
Cynics per annum
Quota of ignorance met
An obtuse composition
Of upheaval per capita
Mutiny on ice
Ramshackle like marionettes
Strung up by the weak threads
Of corporate sponsorship
The magnets of the nation’s
Moral compass are
The same polar charge
Spinning in circles with no direction
…No concept of right and wrong
The definition of terra incognita
No middle ground
Pretentiously overbearing
But not withholding
Any intellectual faculty
No capability to reason
Put becoming principled
On your action item list
And maybe only then
Will you have the respect
Of someone other then
Your pompous colleagues
--end
----------------
Tribal grooves, rhythm entails
3 consonants in a row, total synopsis
Obtuse erection of maddened bliss
Lightly tapping on the door of rejection
It is always answered, rarely the door
To the fields of enlightenment is opened
Like eyes, you must dig the crust
Similar to rust on hinges
The mind binges, purges
The cycle is endless, and I’m on fire
Yeah, on fire with unprovoked purity
That’s right the door is ajar
And your free to move about your soul
*end
-------
Free formed flexed
To the beat of a fucked up drum
Beating at the speed of thought
To express to you the intelligent design
Of something finite in theory
But infinite in actuality
Orchestrated in terms of how and why
Never the way it ought
Pseudo prophetic ramblings
Of nobodies stuck in amber
Lets try and express the noise
Translate into bled aesthetic
I-395, a two-bedroom suite
It is exceptionally seedy
In the figurative motel of ascension
Cockroaches tip the brim of the derby
The cap that crowns off this night
Where my creativity seeps back
Into my minds eye blinking
Thinking, sinking, into the paper
Making connections, and thoughts
Into ill-manufactured ideas
The protagonists of this soul epic
Are the pen, and the ink that is twisted
To express my wretched juxtaposition
Of feelings, and planks in the platform
Of the creaky floor of this seedy habitat
When all that is sought is satisfaction
…Never attained
Makes for interesting inner-monologue
To me articulated through verse
In monolithically small proportion
To what this is really about
This two-bedroom suite holds a special
Place in the darkest part of my mind
Dead to the distractions of a place all too near
Torn from creative dissension
Placed in this calm rundown place
Where I can seep into pressed trees
Of my medium, and flex these words I compose
In the prose of free verse, never couplets
I walk through the entrance; now an exit
Mister cockroach secures the deadbolt behind me
But he gave me a key, to the door of ascension
end
-------------
Cynics per annum
Quota of ignorance met
An obtuse composition
Of upheaval per capita
Mutiny on ice
Ramshackle like marionettes
Strung up by the weak threads
Of corporate sponsorship
The magnets of the nation’s
Moral compass are
The same polar charge
Spinning in circles with no direction
…No concept of right and wrong
The definition of terra incognita
No middle ground
Pretentiously overbearing
But not withholding
Any intellectual faculty
No capability to reason
Put becoming principled
On your action item list
And maybe only then
Will you have the respect
Of someone other then
Your pompous colleagues
--end
----------------
Tribal grooves, rhythm entails
3 consonants in a row, total synopsis
Obtuse erection of maddened bliss
Lightly tapping on the door of rejection
It is always answered, rarely the door
To the fields of enlightenment is opened
Like eyes, you must dig the crust
Similar to rust on hinges
The mind binges, purges
The cycle is endless, and I’m on fire
Yeah, on fire with unprovoked purity
That’s right the door is ajar
And your free to move about your soul
*end
-------
Free formed flexed
To the beat of a fucked up drum
Beating at the speed of thought
To express to you the intelligent design
Of something finite in theory
But infinite in actuality
Orchestrated in terms of how and why
Never the way it ought
Pseudo prophetic ramblings
Of nobodies stuck in amber
Lets try and express the noise
Translate into bled aesthetic
