THE OLD BEATS WERE THE
BEST BEATS AND THE
MODERNS MUCKED IT ALL UP.
I walk around now with a shadow; it
grabs me by the arms and shoulders
as often as it can. I stay deliberate
and careful - one thing at a time.
-
A thoroughly modern morning has
dawned once again : the sky grows
light blue and it's 6am. I can take it
without much bother now. I am a bird,
and I am soil too.
-
Time has overlapped, and it has
overlapped again - so much that
all things are now so different that -
in thinking between now and then -
even I end up confused. Can it now
really be this way? Communication
breakdown, but with everyone talking
away, and to just 'say' what they say?
-
No intensity, no meaning. All froth and
misleading - words shattered like ice
when thrown to the ground. Hundreds
of particle-slivers, but, truly, no sound.
-
To make a dare, for what it's worth,
I ground down, I'm bitter, I'm beat.
I'll admit to death and failure, when
on the other side we all meet.
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