Eggs 5 (ReD SoiL)
What comes first:
right action to motions,
or a motion behind actions?
What fuels one another?
I worry not to be pure water.
Why put intention behind actions?
Timid minds are drunk, boiled souls are eaten.
Who's hungry here? I'll rather serve starvation.
Floating around, laid down, wired on my own thought,
working through the rooftop, cleaning empty halls and sweeping lawns,
eating flat bread and soup corns,
watching no time, tomorrow to be found.
Home is long gone—a paper to be counted,
cloth to be torn, lose a morning round,
worn pack around, sipping smoke and empty hands out.
Let's pick ⚒️ hammers now.
Hunting for eating, eating for a living.
No wise men survived; only cavemen lived.
Built a cage, mighty massive as fate.
What implies freedom sooner or later,
perished a dream once long cherished.
Got flashy old apartments with no one to weep,
selling souls for a corporate deal.
Yet no bargain where solitude is cheap.
A guy seems so shallow, while being so thin and narrow,
largely loose meat, wandering at country foothills,
rotten to a devil thought, perished under a dream,
soon to realize it's nothing but a house jam of white collars.
No one owns a watch which only shows Now!
Sin, ain't it finished? To hear voices—
but I am hearing quality of sound over transcription of words.
To be heard is to be spoken;
sometimes all one needs is a ticket to home.
She worked long miles,
hived bees for lives.
She makes no vows—
how real those lies!
Smokes five times,
a little she smiles.
She got no hours—
when does she sleep?
How rarely she weeps.
When you're tired to thrive,
she goes hard but chills even harder.
All the noises she heard
let no one trace.
How alone she exists—
why are you in her breathing space?
Disappears with a day:
"I am a woman,
I am a womb-man.
You tell me,
I am a humane."
This is better—poetry can be written without needing it.
Who's tryna touch the solid state of light?
Your tone is dance, and my ears are yard.
Do not lick silenced clots on your lips;
on speech, you shall be ignored.
I'll tell you about the Utopia in which only lizards and fleas live.
Those which I have made pets with, only those eat grass.
