Well, for September I could go around in timber hats and tailored shoes
With mustard seeds bemused and stuck to the trunk of my mouth
I could holler and yell and makes messes in masses
Just to clean them up good before October bore
Hoods of winter
I could gather a stricken cotton viper to sting the pit
Of my inner enemies and rise hellion rise up to St. Symphony
I could go clean in my dirt and fester in hurt of all the ways
I lost days wondering in sleep and vomiting my feet
Losing all for a greater rebellion of life in the
Dark of the night that I created as a falsehood for my days
As my head pounded like balls on the court
My neck swimming in tension and shoulders floating above ears
My forehead a hurricane of cement falling downward
Ever ever ever falling downward like it just can’t get enough
Of pillows of down
Even when inside, little voice, wants to get up
Even when inside, little voice, wants to get up
Even when inside, little voice, wants to get up
Just falls down down downward and goes
Does what it will, has will of its own
Will stronger than little voice, little voice it drowns out
Little voice peaks a sneak through a window and frowns
Displeased little voice disowns itself
Little voice quietens and says “hell with it”
Says “fine, enjoy it”
BELIEVES eventually cement will crack, break and crumble
Or maybe, just may be FOUND dust-bitten and fumbled
In pause, in respite, I can see where the faults lie
I can slick my tongue into the gaps in my teeth
With skin boney fingers can dip in and pull out
With blood and gapping holes find tumors to extract
Its not an exact science, all trial and error, but with faith
And fighting spirit- if I can find fighting spirit, if I can get fed up enough
To fight back against the dust of ground and down, down, down
I can start looking up, spotting holes in the coffin
Can lift up and look out, can dig up and blow out
Can start a fire that ignites a new name and new words
That you can exhale your air into and find your spirit
Newly enflamed
Little voice, little voice don’t lose hope yet
For in September rocks may crumble, cement stick you to your pillow
Know that the spirit grows frustrated in this state and will fight back
Blow up outwards, maybe by November, to find a renewal of energies strengthened
And upwards and outwards, not so hidden inside, little BIG voice will get up
And rise and learn to grow flowers again
With mustard seeds bemused and stuck to the trunk of my mouth
I could holler and yell and makes messes in masses
Just to clean them up good before October bore
Hoods of winter
I could gather a stricken cotton viper to sting the pit
Of my inner enemies and rise hellion rise up to St. Symphony
I could go clean in my dirt and fester in hurt of all the ways
I lost days wondering in sleep and vomiting my feet
Losing all for a greater rebellion of life in the
Dark of the night that I created as a falsehood for my days
As my head pounded like balls on the court
My neck swimming in tension and shoulders floating above ears
My forehead a hurricane of cement falling downward
Ever ever ever falling downward like it just can’t get enough
Of pillows of down
Even when inside, little voice, wants to get up
Even when inside, little voice, wants to get up
Even when inside, little voice, wants to get up
Just falls down down downward and goes
Does what it will, has will of its own
Will stronger than little voice, little voice it drowns out
Little voice peaks a sneak through a window and frowns
Displeased little voice disowns itself
Little voice quietens and says “hell with it”
Says “fine, enjoy it”
BELIEVES eventually cement will crack, break and crumble
Or maybe, just may be FOUND dust-bitten and fumbled
In pause, in respite, I can see where the faults lie
I can slick my tongue into the gaps in my teeth
With skin boney fingers can dip in and pull out
With blood and gapping holes find tumors to extract
Its not an exact science, all trial and error, but with faith
And fighting spirit- if I can find fighting spirit, if I can get fed up enough
To fight back against the dust of ground and down, down, down
I can start looking up, spotting holes in the coffin
Can lift up and look out, can dig up and blow out
Can start a fire that ignites a new name and new words
That you can exhale your air into and find your spirit
Newly enflamed
Little voice, little voice don’t lose hope yet
For in September rocks may crumble, cement stick you to your pillow
Know that the spirit grows frustrated in this state and will fight back
Blow up outwards, maybe by November, to find a renewal of energies strengthened
And upwards and outwards, not so hidden inside, little BIG voice will get up
And rise and learn to grow flowers again
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