deepundergroundpoetry.com

.:Phobic:.

before the last millennium�s jazz riffs. before they ended
before what came to be known as hard art [somehow it got soft]
it got blue; like sticky glue...a slow movement
was it an ascension or was it a descent?
is it part or past time to repent?
how about another
another real, feel good event?

meanwhile we're chill-beings

our seeing's
it�s all in the doings
all in the angles
one�s perception�how it prevails
remaining interwoven somewhere within time and space
wild in this place...asking is it time again?
truth and what it len[d]s;
what it does

asking what does it see?
is it. memory

memory has detached itself, yet it still lingers
always lingers lurking around the peripheral
just outside of the negative or the positive of human possibility
for instance...viewing today�s and tomorrow�s activity
always been a coin toss

between barbarism and new world civility
in between is the ongoing hostility
hope � somehow - somewhere you�re out there feeling me
we mean not by imagination but

real feeling

because this is what we�re not experiencing...have experienced � �not

a thing

what�s made up from the huff and puff?
just more days of the rough?
wherein jokers they take advantage of another�s advantageous gamble
doing it with the same vicious and voracious amount of detail

shit, most of us rather have our roll and a snail
the take-out�pray we make-out

wherein this will remain the pace-out �
more to our liking
nothing like some slimy hiking
once again feeling like a phobic thing
but can you hear liberty ring?
because that�s what another�s rosy color might bring
but only to other than themselves
ignoring the tint; the semblance,
the resemblance to their own spilt blood

the finest of fading fluid

YO blood.. � placed irreverently upon the earth and into the sea
because that�s how we�ve been treated G...you and me
where there was a time.. a time and space when
most knew our perception was more keen
when most knew; what sharper eyes could always see
privy to it...exclusively

..