Beneath the duvet, dread in genesis, of new day,
Through shades, heaven’s ray's Kruger in, noon’s haste
Room’s wasted toothpaste, shaven like Hussain,
Tuesday’s obit. brain made of soufflé / 4
Particle or wave? Barbital for days…
Karma isn't partial to the heart that doesn’t pay.
Antartica that weighs like armour on the blades
Harvest of the “hey” though I’m partial to the shade. /
Totem pole, grotesque low in pecking order
Collective hoard vexing, insubordinate to ardor
The art of living large, just a scribble in the margin
Unfinished is the archery, a quiver down to bargain /
The prince of chill is crippled, left with little no excuse
His trill a little brittle, now the chicken's home to roost
Predicament is simple, insufficient is the truth
The ship’s incinerated, drink from Davy Jone’s boot /
Vitae is low in print, present edit’s float the coop
Curriculum was measured by the feather “going poof!”
Intellectual endeavours, stringing sentences to loop’s
Over head, that no one gets lonely effort goes kaput. /
Technological telepathy, messing with his chemistry
Tethered to the business never severed from extremity
The negative, can enter any hell is there with me
Venture at your leisure, this seventh level effigy /

-

"I could not become anything; neither good nor bad;
neither a scoundrel nor an honest man; neither a hero nor an insect.
And now I am eking out my days in my corner, taunting myself with the bitter and entirely useless consolation that an intelligent man cannot seriously become anything, that only a fool can become something.”

Underground man

-

This hood up his address, gesture ramble, hermit crab
Lay of land, determined from obscurity through nervous laugh
Outsider baby who refused to conform
Cut loose excluded from pursuit of the norm
Like Vollebekk - I fall back into old habits
Cold approaches- the solstice with no sabbath
No one told us - its all crap n abhor status
Calculated that, I subtracted a small planet.
Its all banner, not Dave, slingin' inner Goliath.
Always just out of moon shine, given the timing
Lime vision I'm sour now, ripping the linin’.
Seems these records a mess of Jekyll and Hyde
Settle this guise, an element of devil inside
Heavens in sight, to the right its repetitive pride
Every endêver a threat begging to set them aside
Not a (e)motion intelligent, let out effeminate cry
Get up and try, treasure flight, feel better when high
Feather’s implied I was ever the Emerson type
Weither and why come together in spite
Sever the ties, wallow, now or never is right
Imperceptible why, this intellectual strife
Cannibalised mind, lives it's self as a lie
Illegible crimes, thinking acts in reference to time
On every potential between your death its life. /

"I could not become anything; neither good nor bad;
neither a scoundrel nor an honest man; neither a hero nor an insect.
And now I am eking out my days in my corner, taunting myself with the bitter and entirely useless consolation that an intelligent man cannot seriously become anything, that only a fool can become something.”