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Fine Time for Rhyme
A revaluation of all minds.
Mental rhyme signs
Guide these lines quixotically divine.
And do I shine fine?
Or am I some resigned mime
Lost in a lyrical alleyway
Tryin to define time
With eight or nine chimes
That we won't find today?
And I'm inclined to say
I only live for verbs
And nouns that strive to find a way
To climb away into the sun
That shines away.
And I'm designed to pray
For adjectives
That grind into a blind array
Of all my insufficiencies
And all my inefficiency as just a poet puppet
Trying desperately
To shed my mental suffix.
Lips that strive so senselessly
To cause a potent lyric ruckus
Before cynics fuck us
With their soulless passion blades
That always stuck us
In our tongues today.
And how I taste the blood of rhythmic martyrs.
Bleed the seed of lyric ardor
To dismember this disease
I call 'Stanzatic Fire-Starter'
When your tongue goes autopilot
Through the skies of silence.
Spit a little harder.
Shed the spineless.
