Raw Poetry by Rev. Shakes Spear
Homophone?
We need to get this show on the road, boys
But does anyone know where we’re going?
Oh, shit. Is it snowing?
We ain’t got time to kill, men.
The march never halts.
I found me in this Quickness
That simply wicks away the waltz.
Now, who else here is itchin’ like a son of a bitch,
Twitching to get his finger licking tongue busy with
The creative work that turns a jerk into a man:
A man with a plan to live like a King
in a very nice dream dreamt on the fly
of the eye in the mind that sees all things.
- Oh, what do those Old Souls sing?
5-16-24