A Nursery RhymeSo here,My Dear,A nurseRy rhymeThat ISure hopeShall passThe time:"DoYou knowThe TroJan Man?The TroJan Man?The TroJan Man.Yes,I knowThe TroJan Man,Who livesInsideRite-Aid."
My MotherMy mother is the bosom of creation,And as I awoke from the cosmic womb,She did hold me.As all teens do, I rebelled,Rebelled against my mother,Didn't care about her.I was young in my ignorance,The healing has begun.I'm on good terms with my mother,And someday we'll embrace againIn a dance of dirt and dustFor all eternity.
All Saints' DayThis cold day is curious,With ghosts afloat the midnight breeze.I take the night and drink it freely,For far too many are far too unhappy.What has become of gentlemen?Skeletons tux-clad dance the Vegas StripIn Search of what can't be had.O, what luck these foul beasts have,Stuck here,Amongst the living.I cannot comfort them,Soften their ghostly weepings,Tears upon the air,But there may be hope in All Saints' Day:We'll have to wait and see.
Hug a Tree GoodbyeIt would be ironic to talk of tree-saving,With my graphite razor to this tree-shaving,For poetry does tend to eat the Amazon,But hey,that's AO-K.I could lead a movementOf thousands of peopleAgainst the use of paper,And trees'll still be cut down.I don't worry about killing trees,For art gives them new life.
Italian BessieI have a sweet-ass leather trench coat,And I thank the cow that died for me,And warm me in winter.This cow,While holy in India,Died for me,Like a Messiah.I thank you,Italian Bessie,For draping meIn warmth.
Lich's JubileeI feel like I'm falling downward in this pit of despair.Aching in my fingertips, pulling out my hair.I am tired of these days that have shown me bitter ways,Won't I resurface before I feel it's much too late?I can see the white light, it's ahead and waiting for me.I see myself withering and dying.Can you believe what you see?Can you believe your eyes?Can you see my demise?Can you see through my disguise?Watch as I fall into these tearing teary ocean tides.I feel my heart is pumping now, but it feels more like a lung.Blood is spilt upon the altar.I think I am much too young,Much to young to feel the air coursing through my empty veins.Blood red sun drops kiss my forehead,Thing's'll never be the same.I'll never again be sane.The time has seemed to stop for me.I'm so sick of what I see.Call me Lich for that is what I am,Just a broken corpse of a man,Zombie that's soul has been deprivedOf the light on which it thrived.Kiss me goodnight cruel world.May the dirt embr
SleepI should be sleeping,But no, the drive to write is ever persistentAnd slaves me to this chair.The chains do weigh down the fingers,And with a black voice do my hands transcribeWhat I speak. Words are but a pretty thing to fill air or space on a page.What is the difference between air and space?Air is space,But space is not always air.Oh, how cold it is this day,10 of 2 a.m.,The fingers still punching,Chained to the board,My madness grows everso...But I am kept here,Pounding at the keys.Who knows what lies in tomorrow's wake,With voice of songbird ever high,And a yellow massage of finger-raysShall dance upon the EarthIn a beautiful birth.Let freedom ring,That petty thing,With which so many patriots sing,And yet the freedom does so stingWith the reality that freedom is an illusion,Freedom is what you accpet freedom to be...You're freer to live than you're freer to die?No, quite the opposite, child.My fingers do ache,These chains are heavy,But th