Fine Time for Rhyme

A revaluation of all minds.

Mental rhyme signs

Guide these lines quixotically divine.

And do I shine fine?

Or am I some resigned mime

Lost in a lyrical alleyway

Tryin to define time

With eight or nine chimes

That we won't find today?

And I'm inclined to say

I only live for verbs

And nouns that strive to find a way

To climb away into the sun

That shines away.

And I'm designed to pray

For adjectives

That grind into a blind array

Of all my insufficiencies

And all my inefficiency as just a poet puppet

Trying desperately

To shed my mental suffix.

Lips that strive so senselessly

To cause a potent lyric ruckus

Before cynics fuck us

With their soulless passion blades

That always stuck us

In our tongues today.

And how I taste the blood of rhythmic martyrs.

Bleed the seed of lyric ardor

To dismember this disease

I call 'Stanzatic Fire-Starter'

When your tongue goes autopilot

Through the skies of silence.

Spit a little harder.

Shed the spineless.

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