right now as I consume, acryllic lyrics grace images
looseleaf splattered with ink spillage, like bees in pillages
my motivation mobilized as a heart under fire
sort of like infiltrating my demons while wearing a wire
but now somehow my mind is focused on the road dead
a part of me now jump started opposite of code red
re-evaluating my thought patterns reaching out to kin folks
dial tone prone to go alone, yet I still soak
my internals with journals and charcoal filter
the plan is grand, remote control causing blisters
deep in my eyes lies the prism of poetics
verbal trial and error, wordplay, metaphors and phonetics
at least I can feast on mesmerizing levels
of constant swinging pendulums respecting my rebel
with limitless inversions, staying locked on perserverance
the energy is felt, and my ethics coherent
like the mind of Morpheus, every beginning has an end
with all certainties due to mankind, machines transcend
deep in my digestive, free from pork and horsemeat
the content becomes concrete if you force me
not to sugarcoat the transition of the mission
but the channel of my mind redirects your dark vision....
?2003
by A. Bonaparte
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