Criptic Critic Conscience and Known for it

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Beneath my eyes, over my nose

It's annoying that the ghost
The goat bays have within the sound
The distinct sound of the word
Billy goat, should be shot
Pissed on face, yellow crusted hair
Become completely disillusioned
Then the truth will reveal itself.
Fading into a goat baying sound, crying for help
Separated from its family
It's said succinctly I can hear him
It hurts to call his name
The pain

Go around land making up stories
That carve themselves out of the air
in the space you are
the life
in the hills air and sea
in the hills air and sea
see your life 
make it a story someone else
would want to listen to
use styles you'd like to perpetuate.

An old man told me that I was an artist
And an old woman
Because they saw me, I was freed from the need of
A particular art skill, like a trade.
No I didn't mean for it to be this way
I have had this belief where I should feel an overwhelming inadequacy
I have been more than adequate on more than one field
It's easy to see who is good in battle
Who is good at work
They are the ones who are fighting on all levels everyone
In an incredible dance of peace.
Moving like an Akido knower, smooth fluid in time
laying down my foes, ground ward, more real than staring up at the suns stars
I end up in an acetic desert by default
The last standing I am driven to where no body lives
handed the task now of now talking to fellow outcasts,
those that have perspective
and can deliver it, well sustained. I can barely  see them.

Where are the self destructive professors with a penchant for death
As a friend that they refuse to not appreciate.
I wear a veil, the kind that belly dancers are known for
Metal beads shimmer in a rhythmic sway suspended
Beneath my eyes, over my nose.
A distracting false set.
My eyes huge under a night sky bright

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