about you
yeah, I used to recite rote mantras in Tibetan
like the Manjushri di di di di di di di, man he was juicy concerning
mental Mercury n' words that see, clearly - that 'n others reading the
scripts on long sheets of idiogrammatics written in 'lil tics --
nevertheless, light reaches the eye, bounces around inside 'til
chemically driven, you sigh a wonderin' why, all these reflections are
a cussin' conjectures 'n objections, becoming brainiacchtungs that are
rungs down the ladder of your holes, where all the dirty cloths, goes --
you get sick 'n tired of slogging soggy jeans, that means nothing
more than you're wired obscene, mired in the darkness of bad dreams,
dead-locked 'n it all seems to be about you, about you, oh it's bad --
but when all the words fall from synaptic trees, contraries 'n
clarities, oh won't you, won't you please, dive deep up there beyond
your event horizon, your suffrin' vision, the inner idiot disease,
something farther than you'd ever see with eyes blinded by the light
of your inner 'lecktricity, reflections bouncing off mediocrity back
to where you've already been --
oh, but you want to, you want to, get back so bad
after we'd recite in alacrity, we'd meditate to where words dare not
go 'n learn to relate about what we'd know in a language only
the heart can show and it's clear cause its not about you, no, it's not about you, anymore
1 comment:
it seems to me that as all things come of some suffering with contours between red 'n blue, their expression in tears or laughter, fears 'n wrath all add up to what we'd do, when writeously writing of the egregious misery or the gregariousness of sweet sympathy, or the passion of juicy intimacy, its a rainbow of possibility -- to critique the poem 'n not punish the poet, we read as if we didn't knowit -- its like that -- they say that yer' best friend is like your fiercest enemy as they show you yer' inner demons and all yer' bad education -- in that hall of mirrors reflecting in time, some of those demons screaming are both yours 'n mine -- Quantum fluctuations fuking with reality 'n our tunnel-visions made of forms 'n rituals that 'commits you all' to the dead-ends where all suppositions 'n fixations meet -- the rap-a-tap-tap of this hip-hop 'n fly is charming the demons screaming inside, pushing the boundaries of what's Truth 'n Beauty, fuking reality is all of our duty
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