Peace to being outside,
Fall exposes the wild nature of man.
Talking in critical terms of the conscious:
Choices are self determinant,
He’s in the matrix—
Speeding fast—
so fast like in a spaceship.
Going down the interstate towards Georgia.
I-85, How sweet your sound, ohh Georgia.
Dust in his Dutch, stuck in nostalgia.
Acute psychological absurdities,
Memories glitch his reality.
At 85mph, ‘B’, try to imagine.
Moving through the atmosphere like molasses.
Stiff traffic: Heart races with the engine,
His sight off like 2.25 glasses.
The Carolinas got ‘em anxious,
He’s bendin’ others’ reality.
“Move, bitch, get out the way,”
so the song sings.
Hand out in navigation steadfast to the road.
Omnipotence pushin’ the Navigator off the road.
“Move, bitch, get out the way,”
so the song sings.
Obstacles can't get in the way of He.
Occurs four times annually,
Seasons don’t get a break.
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2 comments:
you're a natural wordsmith, man. Whatever happens, keep writing.
i sense the need to be strong and radical from the words here in this piece, which i enjoy. there are places where the lines make some very confusing "jumps" to a new subject, and places where i might like to see some quotation marks for eg "...ohh Georgia."
This i a piece that requires a lot of insight from a dialect that is used by the youth of our generation, but then at the same time the poem used challenging words that might require a dictionary. this give a unique style, that applies to a small group of readers that will take the time to identify the jargon.
there is some space here for imagery. what "acute obsurdities"?
whos, "others realities"?
people on the highway/interstate?
"...pushin the Navigator off the road.." whos, whats gettin pushed? the driver, the car,the other cars around the navigators?
the beginning and the end are nicely tied together by the seasons.
peace-out
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