Poetry has nowhere left to go
And nothing else to do other than
Transcend itself, which first
Requires comprehension of oneself.
Lazy be the cells of a bard
Who sells out to the know-it-
Alls dwelling in ivory towers;
Academic shackles bind the mind!
Those ledger heads would have us
Take a street fight indoors
Where orderlies could constrain
The activities of each brain.
Bukowski believed in the RAW
Nothing wrong with how he saw
Although much needs to be said
About a well done prime rib proem.
An empty stomach grumbles
From forced fast on fury road.
Our ornery engine roars and rumbles
Dead do walk, as crow has crowed.
Outgrowth spawning sprawling tendrils
Innate protoplasmic insight reassembles
Some semblance of emblematic ascendance
Causing such a consternation, that holy heaven trembles!
Long time no write
This site out of sight
The Nous grew silent
Which in retro sounds right
The struggle continues
Nagual knows that it's REAL
But something ETHEREAL
Yet tangible waits on us to feel
Beyond creative explosions
Treks through trials and commotions
Life meets death with convulsions
Still the fight is worthwhile
Stakes are far too high to ignore
Organic existence is just one aisle
That Consciousness must explore
Posterity will bear out this work's value
Polished gems always outclass any hullabaloo
Pretentious labels are attached to such a purview
Perfection is offensive to mortals who envy you!
* Except on Wall of Worthies – whereon rights are retained by respective authors.