Outside the Lines

Ties to see, sling some cred
DisSociety led, sang of red
Piety bled, slang of dread
Like Quiet Riot said
“BANG YOUR HEAD!”

Crudeness in my playlist stakes it all higher,
“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”
Wouldn’t this way fit the Fate of all who aspire!

Marijuana in a sauna
Samba through steam
Kama Sutra dreams

Ponder the Buddha within each being
Lunar beams attuned to my means
No sooner did I lean on runes,
Gris gris and magic beans.

Tragic scene, something hatched, it seems.
No relief when myths escaped the mist without belief.
Paper gifts these capers to exist, if made to fit.

Belief enables creation?
I chiefly waged lore under this statement.
Plenty, all through my twenties.

Shocked I hacked and shuddered.
When tracked I stopped and discovered
My pursuer was born without belief!

Torn from magic seeped?
Whole without?
Formed in a hole of doubt?

Cold block of synergy must’ve been employed.
Overstocked energy in Void.
Negatives have to leg a bit to make it live.

Keeping vernacular elastic
Is a fanta-gasmic practice
To create vision spectacular
Splitting apertures.

Balancing each in core and stature.
Seeing complete like Before & After.
Riffing aghast, sifting through humanity’s trash heap
Masticating the whole midden!

Bright and graphic, my tight magic
Like UV rays in black light hidden
Second Sight and Past Tips stain my glow

Like rainbows split from light refracted
Through a crystal prism.
Riddling schisms.
I spark some light wherever darkness fits in.

Snarling questions the Elites can’t escape.
Like Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes!

Seeds are messages dripping in content.
Rich enough in nutrient to grow a tree.
I’ll stand and blow to rumble

Land some prose, never bungle
To grow a mangrove jungle!
Single tree shows shoots to re-sprout

Like grassroots movements, lending clout
Vast and loose every vine proves out!
Fast and lucid rhymes throughout
Past and Future time.

I’ll re-route and disable Elite plans.
Like Cable, beating the sands.
Churning power fast.

Overturning the hourglass
“Suture social disease!”
Is what Future Ghost of Me
Left in, an echo from self-possession!