He’s a risk taker, a ground shaker, bomb maker
no gypsy poser who shows her nose to a flamboyant faker
he’s a fire breather, a life squeezer, a teaser
freezing ice blocks of clocks that rocks and rolls down hills of retribution across the retirement homes
old men, old women, singing their woes
sharing all the races and colors, simply waitin’
on another day to take a break, for heavens sake, make their one last dance with the grave so dreary
dealing his decks of death and poison
the noise and the loins on which furrow the fields of fragrant flowers of philosophical retaliation
obliteration, simple degradation of the congregation
once you drink that potion, the motion, the rolling ocean
bounces hips to lips, don’t slip, don’t trip
cause the cigarette rolls and the beer that drools down the cheeks of fools ain’t your family jewels
No, it’s no undereducated, mind numbed populated group of dedicated to the art of hatred
No, this is a lifestyle of throat bile filing the freedom of fermented souls
readily ripened for far too long on the rhetorical reiteration of the American Dream
count the cost, the catch, the cancellation on life
death drags to hell the tears of the dead but bites back the blasphemy when this whole bureaucracy of sinners and saints silence his screams
a slash of silver strung by spiders on strings
No, they wave a meandering long lasting goodbye
a melancholy motion only mean for a small sigh
of regret
we’re so in a hurry as we scurry, that the lines get blurry and we miss our chance to dance and simply say “sorry”
then they gently, so mentally, guide the tide of their broken destiny
to their own grave stone to pause
and say a small prayer in the hopes of a second
Chance.