Sunday, January 19, 2020
And then we keep going up in time—there’s no turning back.
Where’s this Monday going with our lives?
When’s this dream ending this scene?
As life’s a mother-fucker, it continues to birth you sons of bitches.
There will come a time the creative wild-child will write a book in your country.
Words had to make home first.
The dog stares a lot—what’s the move human?
For this Monday mood, think love and never rude.
Don’t wish it were a Friday, these days just repeat themselves—they promise.
If you have a battle going on put it on paper then spit on it.
It’s all a blur now.
If thoughts were as light as my bird’s feather, why does paper carry such merit?
We must think before writing, like a bird must hear before speaking.
A boxer trains before fighting.
But does the sun practice before shining?
We’d been died you see…
We’re a happening of love inviting.
Thoughts to create a Monday your dreams are trying.
How random the difference.
Win finally within.