Guru Grapples with Granny Smith Apples
Do not doubt the happenstance
Of a car accident
On Immaculate St.
Can shake soporific temperaments
Obscuring costly troves
Troves that proved
Some babies did crawl
From garbage cans
Toward the breast of wolves
And became Presidents
For the non-people
Unconcerned with the lucidity
Known not of twilights warm
Nor how enthrallment's pulsing flood
Could claim the calm of night
We never thought
That all the lyrics
This metropolis actually needed
Were liquefied in spray cans
Lyrics with bilious breaths of aerosols
Cursing patient sunshine
With new slang
And all who plunged
With taking vows
To plunder languid seas
Decrepit now of spite
Wore the mien of trembling shields
Struck hideous with fear
Languid seas, seas of asphalt
And over-boiled youth
Our passions, yes, we had passions
Smelled like a bus full
Of oily people coming from work
The women were still flowers,
Yet rude stoutish flowers
From shadowed swamps
Angry flowers
Angry about being flowers
About being called flowers
Their thorns, natural and nimble,
Their own middle fingers
Appointed verbose mistresses
Whose ceremonies nigh
Hung out jurisprudentially
In dens of pride declined
Meanwhile, verb-less misters
Are chained to keyboards
And screens
And finance
They're too idle to live
But still live that idle
They put their hands
Out of the window
Just to feel the spinning of the world
Through their fingers
They wash their hands right away
For the spinning of the world
Is a whirled wind
Our virulent coughs
From the north and south
Meet to render
Are we not prisoners
Are we not prisons
Made of so many cells
Made of so many things
That want out
As well as we want out?
Yet stumbling through infirmaries
Contracting trouble's plight
Trailed from spoor's of gaiety
To saboteur's delight
Delight, so it seems,
Though it's not
Believe, Saboteur has bedtime too
He goes to his cradle
Under another cradle
That looks like a huge ashtray
Cradle that seems to belong
To Pharaoh's firstborn
And it was so damn long ago,
The time of Pharaoh
That it looks like the mouth
Of The Grim Reaper
Without his new dentures
Oh, so many new dentures
After new dentures, they were
Saboteur has bedtime too
He sweats a lot in his sleep
As if he was being chased by tomorrow
While tomorrow Saboteur chases us
Again
But chaos met a stumbling block
Unable to explore
And never knew there was escape
Creating to adore
A refuge in your quietness
Charmed grief with beauty's eye
With kisses smoothing dissonance
And tears that couldn't cry
Co-written with me Street Penny
Yay!
Thanks 'Dre!
