It’s always in the back of my mind
In the stack of vines
But not of mine
It’s an artifice so wise…
SO wise that even the skies divide before you arrive
No mystery of whom – or what I speak of
Or reach above
THAT piece is bugged
Forever stuck in a numb-minded ruck
Buffalo Grass, neatly tucked
But whose niche is but a glitch?
Lay and twitch…
As I wait for your ways to switch
Not to mention that every stitch is your wish
And every dish is washed by blood and moss
Nature’s cross isn’t dried with a cloth
But, with a belt instead
I take the books and feed my head
With only a plan, plan, plan to be dead..
Then resurrected by the peoples’ voices
The frequencies summon my soul in another body
Therefore, when it gets cloudy…
You must not allow your mind to get rowdy.
Silent viper… wear your belt.