Thursday, March 8, 2007

Clock Face Socrates

Clock Face Socrates

I've got a clock in my face
and it is laughing
at this time and space
it finds lacking
a will to arise
some shake to awaken
that drive to arive
on this road so taken.
I ain't got it today
to fake my karma death,
stand behind a waterfall,
breath beneath its weight.
I can always find a way
away from my self.
No one has to pay me
for That!

I've got plants in my place
and they like me
better when I play
or when I am writing
my comedy
of Socrates
of his alleged death
'er the possibility
that they gave him Belladona
to fiegn his martyr's wish
and stole his ass away
on a stretcher.

Then he wakes with his friends
though he thinks he's gone to heaven
or where ever the Greeks
sent their questioners.

I asked my mama
if she could find me
a pair of Black Cow Boy
Boots to take the stage
in any nieghborhood
on any crowded street
in any antique doorway
where ever the people
freely meet...
Lest they bust me playing music
in The City That Care Forgot
and fine me a hundred dollars
and say they better not
find me playing music
in the Quarters after dark
and that goes for your little dog,
and that goes for you little dog

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