Saturday, March 29, 2008


i heard their stories before
weezing out
through the wind tunnels
escaping a jungle of steel and concrete
that hum broken
french sonnets about
waters that slowly drip
from broken coconuts stolen
from the plantations of the other man
no it is not quest to point the finger
but dammit i will
still beating and pounding
on my chest
the hum
as i told the sory
that i knew was never
true i boasted
about that crash
of waves that pounded against the army
of crabs as they drifted off so
did my sense of truth
weezing out
i coughed up my freedom
and handed it
to one of my follwers i
climbed mount sinai
in my head of course
i...the martyr
i...the planter that planted the seed
from which sprouted the rest
of my lies which will forever
from the broken nut onto
the broken drum so we
can continue to sing freedom
songs carried on by the space
framed winds bouncing
off the matured roots
of the city now
in the night
and asleep beneathe the moments
of sunlight i tried
to understand
and decipher the sunrise
but then that turned into more lies undefended
by the heat of our drums
molten beats pulsed
onto the city
yet and still weezing


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4/20/2008 1:34 PM  

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