i fear i hear the streets, the beat they say is mean.. but antithesis or thesis? jesus! TEACH us in between; i hear the siren call; not the fey that sing to sailors, but they that bray the system sound, the hounds that bring the jailors. i seem to see the seams of a single wrinkled dream that lacks the patches i’d attach if i could catch the king; or- mordor is horrible my orders are to fling: the war into the owners forge, if i could snatch the ring. so i eye-ball what i might call the right fall back: shoes fit for all paths and a nice tall pack; with maps rolled, a pass-hat, and an ice cold flask full of light bulbs for a bight skull, ‘cause the nights all black
oh boo. online ten minutes, busted. maybe this will buy me the rest of the day to surf
give me back our fangs and violent blood, to rend these red-tape chains of torpid conformity.