Without no tolls we get no rolls and so it goes battling for a stream of thought that has been being fought for since the days that civilization dawned and I was awakened from my slumber. An incarnate that has hopefully changed the warmth of your days and lives like the Naked King sitting staring at his intrepid lady friend as she so nimbly launches arrows at his appearance making him second guess the encounters as he slides his cornflakes across the counter to be engulfed by his meaty hands. Cornflakes on the way to his gullet we get back to our quest which is to blaze cannabis and remove the dust from the youths’ perceptions, like Huxley we must get completely fucked up in order for this work. So I lounge around in a bathrobe like The Jerk. I have taken lamps and turn them into lanterns, I have left the arrows nestled in my spine and called the hearts of women by their naked names, Athena, Nike why have you gravitated to my loathsome battle knowing full well that I may as be ticking bomb for how safe it is some days inside my vision. But I laugh at times with mind spilt glory, dancing around through these allegories and when I get to the other side I buy a night of sleep and frozen eyes. For tears come and tears grow flowers, flowers laugh and bring the showers the showers then leave him clean and he has no more thoughts that make him cringe, and leaves his spirit to the wind. This wind is like no other, she hovers and must be a gift for Nature’s Mother, for the way she gently carries my wrecked and torn body home is like the way of a horse drawn carriage, gently settling his mind to spiritual marriage and glancing through an animistic phase he lands directly near a spiritual stage, incorporating any who wish to play and making a dance for any who wish to stay. He has gone through countless books obscure references and haughty looks that turn to smiles; he dances like there was no future and remains a depressed version of an artist when they turn their backs, which is so easy in this town where the tracks turn north. But one must also remember several things before they leave him on the brink, one is that this is a battle that was brought to him for no good reason so and it was drugs that drove his madness turned his heart from lived in to damaged and when he looks back at a shortly known girl who had appealed to his inner ego, he realizes it is not good to test the fates for they will call Valkeryies and you will die by their blade.
I am a poet of ever increasing skill. I feel that my poetry now is quality in the fact that not too many people have the same rhythm and ability to verse as I do, agreeing that it is kind of a rare form. I have traveled a lot in my youth and my influences range from Herman Hesse, Jean Micheal-Basquiat to most forms of underground hip-hop. I as well enjoy eclectic movies for example the Sin City series is ranking near the top of my list at the moment. As far as styles that I see I am really like? I would generally say I fall into the surrealist category more often than not and as well write almost solely in a stream of conscience format. I as well am a humble artist, drawing characters and abstract images that go along with my poetry. If any of this appeals to your magazine then by all means please contact me when you have time: abstractpictures@hotmail.com
Is that first line a Robinhood, Men In Tights reference?
Yeah, Little John right? Guarding some random stream for no purpose, or better yet potential going misused.