Rough Roads (Ripple)

Rough Roads.

steps in the night through rough roads
between broke walls,
scrawled across are slogans saying this and that
people are always eager to lend a hand,
even those who lost their limbs
mes anpil shi palo!
sinners&saints partake in this grand game

the sun violently cascades, parading upon
the ripping waves like a thousand flames a flickerin
light strikes the skin in unending repetition seducing sweat frmo sunken pores
so even the bone drying heats seems moist
voices makin noises in

Rough Roads.

steps in the night through rough roads
between broke walls, scrawled across are slogans saying this and that
people are always eager to lend a hand, even those who lost their limbs
mes anpil shi palo!
sinners&saints partake in this grand game

the sun violently cascades, parading upon
the ripping waves like a thousand flames a flickerin
light strikes the skin in unending repetition seducing sweat frmo sunken pores
so even the bone drying heats seems moist
voices makin noises in

Stagnant River.

depression — a stagnant river
at a bus stop. belief. frozen
> will it awake seems to be forever asleep.
dozing, yet growing; not knowing yet understanding
— and then smash…
sounds the collapse of soul's glass ceiling,
an intake [gasp]...
of reality verifies life's
feelings - like sponge in a still space.
embrace the stagnant rivers and its depression

Spur.

Bold, fire ignites and excites.
Inspiration and that energy, that entity
whistles through the mind.
and "clamour such as heard till… now
… was never."
even though we exist in 'paradise
lost', the —
source is still shining.

The Nothing

The mind buzzes with nothing;
white noise amounts a plethora of happening.
Thoughts are. They Think.
A world away shouts worry.
The hour keeps coming, and going,
and staying, deep breaths flood the body with air,
cells tingle, the frantic stillness screams.
Piercing silence. Sounds.
Canvas is blank, brushstrokes are forgotten.
The hour is forgotten, experience flourishes,
the minds desires shuffles,
in nothing.

DIS POEM

DIS POEM that the cosmic prophet told resonated through the ages and debated all the things which ain't said
DIS POEM is eternal it'll shock the soultranscendin base consciousness - a meditation
DIS POEM shall evolve into - out of nothing
DIS POEM will ignite - turn ya walking into runnin be a friend in deem dark hours emancipating
DIS POEM is infiltrating the brain & maybe it's repetition is a irritation but it's in it's rhythm that wishful thinking can transcend into more than just
DIS POEM more than just words more than song
DIS POEM is a meta earthly urge to grow and defeat all deem psychic demons wreaking havoc in dreams and beyond. yes
DIS POEM is a key to be forged by the interpreter
& this echo comes from mutabaruka

Stagnant River

depression — a stagnant river
at a bus stop. belief. frozen
> will it awake seems to be forever asleep.
dozing, yet growing; not knowing yet understanding
— and then smash…
sounds the collapse of soul's glass ceiling,
an intake of reality verifies life's
feelings - like sponge in a still space.
embrace the stagnant rivers and its depression

fu-net-ik ph-eal-ing

fu-net-ik ph-eal-ing
li-ta-rul ov-ee-yu-s-li
n-oh mist-ree
uhn-herd sim-fur-knee
ce-krut aum-knip-pa-tun-sz
oh-pn m-i kon-st-nt
b-four m-eye my-nde
ful-za cee-p drau-zi
wurd-sz sl-epp n sy-de
hy-de b-hynd da my-d-sz
bla-ey-nd sp-uh-t

Flux & Echo.

flux & echo.
echo is the flame the flux is the spark.
the flux is awake, the each is the yawn.
the echo is pop, the flux is the bubble.
the flux is the suffocation, the echo is the cry.
the flux is the eternity —
\the flux is the echo & the echo is the flux.

Best Before — Question mark.

best before question mark. people?
the best before date for van gogh supposedly twenty ninths seventh eighteen ninety, one eight nine zero.
— rebirth. the restart button on pandora's box. same input but different kind of flux.
best before question mark. money?
the best before date on the centre of world trade eleventh ninth two zero zero one
— misers in their ivory tower indent the masses take away their power.
best before question mark. the sun?
the best before date of light, big bangs birthday
— our solar system just a smoke whispers glistening in the dark some day some hour our star will cease to shine.
question mark…(?)
we're a mere blink; our best before date — question mark (tomorrow).

Concept Heavy

world gets a lil heavy. concept sparring in side the mind after slumberin under an iced river.
*FERTILE GROUND*depression is a stagnant river at a bus stop. frozen. will it awake? seems to be forever asleep dozin' yet growing not knowing yet understanding - and then SMASH sounds the collapse of the soul's ceiling of glass. an intake of reality verifies life's feelings like sponge in a still space (sea?) embrace the stagnant river and its depression..

Collaboration

the power of collaboration unveils fire one heart can't alone fuel...
finding the paradoxes different perspectives reflect,
the crux of these rays holds a rainbow explosion
imploding in separate location but it true unison is spoken understanding.
maybe we are looking constantly in history but so too in the present,
our eyes seein light's debris but still seems the speed of light is less than a blink,


bold fire ignites + excites inspiration & that energy, that entity whistles through the mind & "clamour such as heard till now was never" even though we exist in 'paradise lost' the source is still shining hidden elements seduce + create divination

Slipping.

these structures metaphysik holding us down, our blood cements these social constructions,
we be the foundations never the crown, our hearts and minds mere engines for combustion
to fuel the fire creating crisis. hiding in pits of flames burning skin and bone defining
only a name decided without consent
theres no ascention
but we can die trying
says i who finds it hard to get out of bed in the morning.
and
i find it comic that vying for the sublime is married with an insatiable desire to waste hour after hour in the TVs empty gaze.
feels like a maze yet its a direct path.
monotony grasps the spirit by the horns and calms the vivacity: turned to pacific emotion. how far from reality
i
and
i
have
s
l
i
p
p
e
d
.or perhaps this is the verity and living beyond the realm of convention was destined to never live longer than just a few eath spins.

that is farce yet it is so hard for continuity under ones own steam...

lss s mr

less is more...