The spoken word
a new passion
or perhaps hidden?
thinking, reeling, tapping
that toe to the beat of the dawn.
spit spit
inflection
slow slow
real slooow
a passion
the spoken word

a colorful flick
the lit ashes float in arch over the sill
through the open window, i look, i climb, im out
hello morning
your blue feel soothes the skin i'm in

bouncing on the balls of my feet
bouncing balls on the court
turning moonballs in my palms
this is far more zen than psalms
5:22 haaaaa
get in my birthday suit, lay back, relax

i can't keep going
the sound flows through me too literally
i can't even move
the crazed smile on my face
is only a hint into the keys
that play smoothly through
my nervous system
i stand, i wobble, i come in and out
of a reality about
that music in my my inner ear

move the vinyl round with my fingers
backwards subliminal talk
i write with chalk
on the blackboard in my mind
perhaps a sound i will find
will change me

Tokyo, Japan just makes me want to go to Shimoketezawah, a college town. Then im back in Jupiter House chillin lookin at the grain in this table top wood. That, then becomes the grain of the papyrus i scribble on. Which was once a part of a whole. A notebook, woodchips, a tree.