Form-fitting, from the crack of dawn to the cracked mirrors, the ones from the "before times..."
When all it takes is whimsically perserveranced prayers, and meeting my maker half-way,
these things work out.
Some may say a whole bunch of shit about it, but those who stand true, aligned, and awake,
will continue to give props.
And may the props flow circular, connecting and raising the consciousness of the warm...
infecting the cold and the calous ones with our sickness of grace and compassion...
well, gratitude can apparently transform a tough guy convict bad-ass loud mouth, trash-talkin', judgementally-inclined type-casting pigeon holing, elitist fuckin wannabe music snob...
...into a real poet again.
Thank you Spoken Views, I'll come back around soon, stronger and cleaner than before