DREAM BIG, NEXT TIME, DREAM BIGGER.
CAPITAL BITTER HILL GURU BEAST.
CAMILLE IS NOW A STATE OF MIND.
MEG, PEG, SLAY IT'S A DIFFERENCE.
DON'T PUNISH THE PRISIONERS, AND
OUR ART OF WAR, POLITICAL PRIZZI'S HONOR.
NEXT TIME PEG HAVE A LEG HERO.
DESPICABLE US, DOUBLE DARE, SECOND
CHANCE AT LIFE. STAY WITH THE ANN LIVELY,
MINORITY REPORT.
SUNG SHI GU FU.
PEG'S NAME ON A MEDALLION.
MATTER STAYED BLACK.
PEGASUS LIVES ON, WHAT OUR DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE.
BE MINDFUL AND THOUGHTFUL WITH WORDS PEG.
NEEDLING OF THE RICHTER SCALE, BALANCING THE THREAD.
EQUILIBRIUMS ADJUSTED INTO FALLEN TEETH.
PEG MISS PEARLIE CROWNED WITH GOLD.
ENTANGLING THE WAY THE ROOT GROWS.
gods of small things have callis palms
to busy to eat grapes on mount olympus.
Their gardens consist of mature
rhododendren bushes that clamor for
attention from the sun.
most live in 1970s ranch style houses
with radient ceiling heat.
they admire jade plants and place them in
the window lattice.
similarly twisting there necks..
twisting up for warmth.
reaching up to the ceiling.
stretching up to the sun....
see icarus fly.. see icarus fall.
stumbling into corners earlobe
equilibriums intoxicated.
gods of small things..
we talk about existence
like we talk about
the concept of time
trying to encode our souls
in something
we do not believe in
patterns seem to
make rings around
the heart of the flesh
the soul of the wind
my lips stay loose
for the right words
to slip its way through
but what is a thought
but a creation we waited for
but what is a thought
but a creation that we are waiting for
…because waiting is the message of Creation
we write with existential pens
we love with an
intensity the heavily depends
on the input-output
laws of equilibriums
can we really see?
can we really feel?
can we really exist?
my flesh becomes
a reason to hate myself
and to hate myself
becomes a reason to breathe
i want to be broken
without the feeling of insecurity
but God wants broken vessels.
that’s what the past said to me….
”I am a broken vessel.”
God is a broken vessel
so we twist our fingers to
match the rhythm of the pulse
so we lose our minds
to erase the words that made up
the original thought
and I continue to find myself
to find God
to leave clues for the past life
to find God the Moment.
No One Attending Will Ever Be The Same…..
-Destiny the Poet
we talk about existence
like we talk about
the concept of time
trying to encode our souls
in something
we do not believe in
patterns seem to
make rings around
the heart of the flesh
the soul of the wind
my lips stay loose
for the right words
to slip its way through
but what is a thought
but a creation we waited for
but what is a thought
but a creation that we are waiting for
…because waiting is the message of Creation
we write with existential pens
we love with an
intensity the heavily depends
on the input-output
laws of equilibriums
can we really see?
can we really feel?
can we really exist?
my flesh becomes
a reason to hate myself
and to hate myself
becomes a reason to breathe
i want to be broken
without the feeling of insecurity
but God wants broken vessels.
that’s what the past said to me….
”I am a broken vessel.”
God is a broken vessel
so we twist our fingers to
match the rhythm of the pulse
so we lose our minds
to erase the words that made up
the original thought
and I continue to find myself
to find God
to leave clues for the past life
to find God the Moment.
No One Attending Will Ever Be The Same…..
-Destiny the Poet
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