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I Still Ignite My dreams

Squash face disciple of the blood teeth rock and roll bible
Dance your anger piety in my circle until we purge this overbearing hate
I didn’t fucking vouch for it
And it hurts
But broken nose prophets with our red dried t-shirts know the game
It’s all shit and poison pretense
So let’s take a dose of this defective, beautiful flame quench personality of move along with it
and burn the next four years into a fire big enough to light the wick of love and art
Ivory string poised to explode
in definitions of this millennium to come

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We Hurt

11/9 is nothing but unusual
Tears and all black at America’s funeral
Somber procession through the streets of my city
While the south treat their sheets in bleach with no pity
Who’ll let the white majority condemn the minority?
Touting hate, fear and violence as the benchmarks of authority
They claim to own possession of the land that we stole
Yelling at the masses to sit quiet and know their role
And the cracks in the path stain pain in the mud
But there’s love in my people that flows thicker than blood

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Glass House Existence

Tainted by illusions of legitimacy drawn out by time
Undeterred by another millennium’s passing
You the misguided zealots of today work to drown out the legitimacy of mankind…
The flesh beating heart unrelenting, undetermined by supernatural implications
The real dreamers captivated by the angelic limitations of man
Joyously afraid to die in the pursuit of radiant existence,
Validated by the ever-looming terror of a finite answer to the question of forever
We will not bow to your war-backed flower picking
Tearing daisies from the earth for fear of their wilting and it’s suggestions on the sanctity of beauty
We are the paintings of the future,
Ephemeral saints beating our path towards the dirt

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Manifesto for the Future

For you my shadow friend I grant the whispers of my world

The great doubts and unvoiced aspirations
Buried fear and bottled anger
The intimacies of my mind hidden from the blink faded faces of the other bone contraptions sliding by 
I’m worried, troubled
Brazenly excited 
About the coming passage of time and its implications
There’s plenty to pursue for the modern man
I only hope to find pleasure, purpose
The courage to live towards the dreams of this man
And not spend my days fearfully toiling towards the imagined visions of another 
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Believing in a bus rideĀ 

Am I of this bus?

One of the transient souls drifting with my own profound destination?
The man speaking to himself in long winded sentences, and getting answers?
A boy with two sticks creating wonder from the wood he found in the world?
Are we lonely or independent?
Beating our own paths through this early-spring city, 
winter-hardened and hopeful
We all fade forward
On rubber wheels and divergent futures
Taking turns pulling the chord
Stepping away from the we 
Back to the solitary isolation of individual dreams 
Eventually we all get off the bus
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Gripping At Minutes

There’s something elusive,
and consuming
in this fall night
as the city rots to winter
Time wasting with it
Nothing is happening, but everything is moving quickly
I’m slipping further into the evening
days, months
And there’s a quiet engine
Idling here,
urging me to do the same
For a minute, I oblige
Plant my feet and hold fast to the moment
It doesn’t last, as time ticks I’m tossed
sent hurtling,
forward again
Into the night, the future
And it’s already tomorrow

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Another Bet on the Dark Horse

It’s dark but comfortable
A quiet calm before the carefree chaos of summer nights
I’m happy to be alone in the moment for now
To stare into the black and see reflections of self
The future has not manifested itself at the moment
And it shouldn’t
Not yet
Now I am content to wonder about the roads my life will travel
Maybe this uncertainty is okay,
Exciting even
It’s nice to control the ride sometimes, but when it comes down to it,
I don’t mind gripping the reins and trying not to get tossed back into oblivion

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