Static Evolution

Static Evolution
Was begun to end
And no path will lend a single red cent
Save the path at the fore it was meant
Though at a point it will bend
Make loop and resend
Energy back to the place it began
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Our karma set forth, what we doeth we must
We must or it kills us
But kill us it must
Because our time was spent exhausting the vent and thus

The lender that lent
The owner of debt
The blessing of breath
Has made an investment and expects what’s been spent
To flood in the scents of profits

Prophetically vised
The vision revised
Rewritten comprised
The sorted devised
The neatly surmised and categorized
Story apprized
With our demise
Was quite simply put…

A token
To all that which has been spoken
Now back at the fulcrum the balance of power was stolen
Less life to be lived than was told him
A promise unfilled with actions to build, and woven
Into every concern explosive
The tongue is a powerful weapon both curses and blessins creatin a mess in the mind and the body with soul in
Just no body knows it
Thought that road would be golden
But loath in the cold hearted notion
For holdin back the truth of emotion the channels now frozen and swollen
At some point in the life of a poet
A poet will find himself in a rut
Complacent
Grown stagnant
Erase it from memory where times spent
A record…
A record…
A rec…
a…
A record that’s scratched reliving a phrase it cannot see passed
Is the same as a writer whose taxed on his ass
Vexed on a topic
Acute microscopic
Translucent the answer
No power to stop it
The logic unsound it could be psychotic
Playing that record that record on scratch till I’ve got it
The feeling on top of is nearly narcotic
Searching through bones on optic atomic
Vibrations symphonic revealing the object as not to exist on the plan of R sight yet
Which, brings us full circle to the point where it’s chronic
An onslaught of dead ends that still, are not gone yet
But like a good writer
The depth of a subject is seen as a challenge to subvert and erect
It’s almost a precept to learn from the last set
Come to conclusions assimilate knowledge in the midst of the wreckage as record skips message these hopeless of questions fill in the vestige of poets intentions to finish the best writs yet life continues to push right on forth not waiting for us to make it all work

Now the “Garden of Eden” a mystical theme
And the “City Atlantis” to be sought and never seen,
!!OUTLANDISH!!...
But all that I mean is the reach is at hands width
Should I choose then I’ll have it
But somewhere we get lost thinkin our dreams are forsaken
And what cumbersome damage has surfaced and landed?
What troublesome stanzas have wrecked with this havoc?
Is that the left and the right are the faceless
And though they still hold the spaces in our brains should we take them when we know their unanimous inanimate ends are devoid of profitable options which leave a poet stuck lacking homeostasis
The basis, theses days and ages aren’t far from the places of ancient
The slave ship the whip the cage and these cases are no longer adjacent to these days at minimum wages
THEY ARE THE SAME SHIT
Can’t escape this tasteless pace of changeless changes aimless pages written phrase missed biased ages waistin souls spent
And this waste is piled on shoulders pound hold up no where right to turn left
Can’t escape this spaceship
Know I don’t belong here
BUT HOW TO GET AHOLD OF THOSE GODS I HOPE ARE UP THERE I DON’T KNOW YET…

Dreams are fadin quick from traces to traceless chase this end to its endless ends……….
And…
Find…
Myself there…
The unstoppable force, tunneling through the immovable object
And I thought to stop at, my forgotten prophets, reliving topics, from stethoscope to chest harmonics
The heart is
Of course the hardest instrument to tune and mimic but once it’s accomplished and accompliced with lyrics
A story unfolds and fades into focus
The laborious journey of a poet’s whose guns stick
On topic and sees it through to it’s finish
Because there is an end to the wastelands of a writer’s frustrations where those frustrations are exchanged for a days pick in the orchards of genius
Where all meanings are found
Statements are sound
And an era of quest is given some closure
As a linear thought is now known to be round
For it ends where it begins
And begins where it ends
An thus…
Is my…
STATIC EVOLUTION