Blue Tarp Rap

(collaboration of Santa Cruz Poetry Enclave)



Paper tigers, the denials of Island,
All of your arguments silent.
Who’s seat does this bemoan?
Is it the fortress of those, I fear,
or is it my own?

With emptiness in mind,
Or longing for emptiness,
Too much is too much

And in the fullness of that swelling
I secrete then explode forth
with emptiness

time slipping away
in a void of oblivion,
creating something from nothing
and nothing from something
spirit detaching from the core,
and floating about in open limbo
spinning through lost winds
in an era of forgetfulness
remembering nothing
but purity
of thought
and freedom of anonymity

When madness comes to form
And legions of dead
Prevail —Your correspondence
Is Sent Straight
To The All
Good Will