The mind of the poet is like a ticking clock
That’s always winded up and never stops
No rest, no peace, wide awake, can’t sleep
A better addict won’t stop until I’m better at it
What’s behind the mind you wouldn’t believe
The mission is to intrigue
Forever strong
Hair forever long
Rows and stacks and snacks
In the back like a brainsick maniac
Sleep walking, hypnotized seeing things
Through the devils eyes
A demon in disguise
Infiltrate
I’ve lost my touch
Can’t feel as much
Liquefied, translucent inside
Too bad to be innocent
Never claimed to be a saint
Truthfully I try to be
The best I can be
But honestly I’m sinfully a mess
Like an out of tune symphony
Tone deaf out of order
My throats dry can I get some water
Kosher than a Jewish deli
Fat like a big belly
It’s 3am time to wake the dead
Shake the graves get up out of bed
I’m mad not angry madness is my pedigree
I was born on the last Viet Nam bomb blast
There was a storm brewing in the forecast
Martin Luther King had a dream
It was a hell of a scene to be seen
If I could have opened my eyes