Clearing my mind so I can look into your Shogun eyes
And wax poetic about the empires rising up inside your ancient mind
This poem's not coming so I may have to call it a day
Pack it in until the coffee is done percolating and you appear before me like a vision from another age.
Sometimes the words pour out faster than I can get them down onto the page. Other times it takes everything I have to pull them from the deepest, darkest recesses of wherever they flourish and flounder.
It's all a process like planting flowers or exhuming a body from the frozen ground.
Poets are like coal miners and just like miners we're often underground for hours at a time praying the canary will find enough fresh air to breathe.
Wanted to break out of this prison, but I figured what's the point when my imprisonment was self-imposed and all I have to do is stand up and walk free from the shallow end of this wading pool.
I believe you have a cowboy mouth just like Bob was writing about. Of course I oftentimes don't know what I'm saying as you quiet my mind with your Shogun eyes.
I was inspired and then I wasn't. I drank some coffee then I took a shit. It's all good and it's all in the game and even if our world explodes we'll always have the music and Paris, Texas to keep us grounded and relatively sane.
It's becoming more and more apparent every day that the bullies are ruling the roost as their iron fists grind us into dust, but they will not have the last word. As cynical a person as I can be I'll never not believe in humankind to get off the ropes and land some hard punches as good vanquishes evil and the entitled and the pampered have the tables turned on them for a change and the meek shall inherit more than just the Earth.
Listen to Shogun Eyes.