Workin

I post my poems to give them purpose
my neurons trying to prove to me they're workin
even through the thick haze of haze from early days
blowin trees while learning trades
but there's less purple now and more cheese
tattoos of the cuts and the burns in an assortment of three degrees
He's a beast he'll tear the earth up
that's what they sing to me
watch me work til you get tired
and then go get exhausted when you even breathe
but don't put him down, he's planting seeds
germinate till his knees hurtin
bleeding, with a grin on my face, He's workin
and if a single sprout is all I bring
from these sordid schemes I hoard in me
well holy jeeze, I must have done my thing
giving all I know to just grow and grow
Hell, you see my glow
movement friction and flow
even though I may just be so so
to me
it was fun and worth it