My Final Baited Fingertip

You almost forgot how to breathe

If your lungs are machines with minds of their own
Then call society the rust building up on your hinges
You once saw the corroded gears of your grandfather’s emaciated body
Spitting up dust and grime and blackened oil phlegm
If his vocal chords were exhaust pipes
Then call his breathing the final puttering
Of that good old American Muscle on its last bend
My boy there is more than metal and oil

Over the past twenty years
I have baited my fingertips with opportunities
That your skepticism continuously refused to accept
Like offering a feast to a starving person
Who is terrified of food
I must express my thanks
For my fingers grew blistered and raw
I did not know how long they would have lasted

My boy your blood has changed colors
It no longer courses through your veins
With the black self loathing of mislead dreams
Your heart is a goat skinned hand drum
You have learned the tribal intricacy of carving bone
Fashioned two hands from your breast plate
Set them to the frequency of riotous
So now as they play
Your heart beats with the untamed rhythms of freedom

I must tell you
When god designed the heavens
Like everything else he made them flawed
                Imperfect
Like everything else the master plan of such
Was that of a genius architect
Then came you
Baby boy wrapped in a blanket of uneasy first impressions
You fell through the cracks of heaven
At the ripe age of fourteen
When your skepticism continuously refused to accept that life
Was not what the people in charge made it out to be

Some will call you a demon

Others a messenger from god

I will call you a fallen angel suspended in mid decent

If pawn shops can be the recipient of a junkies lost soul
Then call your broken angel wings golden redemption
For you have traded their weight in gold for words
You do not need wings
To engrave your accomplishments
On a tomb stone that one day you will rest under

Only stories

They will hate you for it

But it is time

Wash the corrosion away from minds of masses

Carve trenches with your vocal chords in the floors of heaven

Open up a drum circle and play
Until the world can hear your untamed rhythms

Because you
My boy

Are the embodiment of an unbreakable idea
Whistled through the organic throat of a megaphone

A word perpetually stuck in motion

A scatter bomb mental guerilla warfare explosion

If bullets can govern the world
Then call your ammunition of superiority
Seeds

For I know you would use shotgun shells as incubators to grow food
And not a medium to steal life with

They have perfected violence for centuries
What they do not know is peace

This is my final baited fingertip
You know what you must do
Tell the people stories

Inform them that freedom is free
It’s as natural as breathing
As simple as a drum circle
And as easy as falling

To be free is to love
Unconditionally

I love you

Sincerely,
            Life

The news

I, after alotting eno!ugh time and making it a point not to prematurely expose myself onlne, am ready and have come to terms with it. I, infact, am back in SLC. I got in Saturday night and have been floating around suprising the shit out of people for a few days now. It's damn good to be home!