light reflect off ground
ground reflect off light
upon reflected ground-light i reflect
pondering upon my light that brings light, ground, and reflection
into a reality that isn't really real the moment i think about it 'cause then they're just words...and words are most deft what they are not...word
but i am a part of this, word up I am this
'Tis i that lights the ground that reflects me
take any one of the four out and see
if any of the other three continues to be.
my sight is not light, but it does light as much as light does itself
sound does not bounce off ground, rather the ground sounds
(and i ain't talking about no earthQUAKES)
I touch upon this and reflect on how reflections occur without touch
but a lot of cats out there be like:
"FUCK THAT! LIGHT!...CANT TOUCH THIS!
I'M TOO THUGGISH!".....
whimpering inside like: "i need a hug kids"
their fight ain't right
measuring the lows by the heights
like who turned off....the lights?
this is my call to you to pull me through
oh light....won't you
without touching me
its there...i catch glimpse on occasion
ill be swept up
far away from here
with baby goats in my arms
its in my eyes that that is me in theirs
by yourself or you're alone
mars' beaches are looking nice this time of year
i push back at the feel of the pull
scared to be vacuumed
how can i know and still not do?
the universal communist holds no deceptive plots,
knows nothing of politics, his system unbought
a covert agent but surreptitious he's not,
infact, he's quite open using what you've got.
railroads and plazas and buildings he'll make,
out of your scraps, shoestrings and ol' skates,
even the metal bristles from broken rakes he might take,
collectivized tomatoes sweets, wheat, golden grapes,
for he carries fifty times more than just his own weight,
why can't the robust caterpillar capitlizers see that this creature is truly so great.
so alone he might seem insignificant to life,
for he spends all of his working in strife
look at his size, look at his size, look at his size,
now look at the colossal squadron behind him marching in lines;
searching, gathering, distributing, producing, communicating, locating...
cells of an organism, even more organized,
when they make one of their comrades workers and brothers
stable sustainability, they'll surely outlast the others.
and old way of life that's sure to return,
but before the ones who look down on them must burn.
the disgust directed at him is reflection of fear,
for his system is far superior yet his position unclear.
I wonder if he dreams dreams of a life of his own,
callings and aspirations beyond serving the throne,
and though they might seem like clones, distincitve as grains of sand,
caught in a destructive plot of supply of evil demand,
that is only the mirage of disproportioners thought strand,
refusing to store away their philosophical roast ham.
Too small to get shot, too big to be left unmanned,
So what you going to do when your left-overs swap hands?
the lesson of the moth taught, the fate of the cockroach planned,
but no thing is more deserving than an ode to the ant.
I changed the sky’s color today
from vital blue to daunting grey,
and noone believed that I could.
the hills I undressed, of their gown of fertile green
exposing a mundane brown that defeatedly steamed,
and triumphantly I stood.
I convinced the people to all run away,
although it would have been much more delightful if they had just stayed,
for I had brought warmth to their homes
that once stood so frigid,
and upright, and geometrical,
unblemished and rigid.
I made it snow today
floating soot colored feathers,
a blanket of despair, now I feel much better.
the sun I made orange, Yes, I, with just these two hands,
oh to conquer nature, how glorious for one man !
conducting like god,
creating in my image,
transforming all that is,
till all that is, is diminished.
I changed the color of the sky today
from vital blue to daunting grey,
and all it took was the strike of a match.