Grenades for lunch

 Recreations was washing and hand grenades
Snack and boom
shrapnel a handful
a stomach full of

Friends and dirty washing
The air explodes
Lunch box empty 
grenade oes rolling

Pin is out
Time to three
Time to shatter
Burst out

How to twist the truth

 I had the truth within my hands
I sculpted it wisely with tricks
Until it looked a lot more grand
More clicks, crunches and moxy

Now it's in the shape of an elaborate lie
Thawed just right for a hot pan fry
I had this fresh fillet of the truth
It has spice, punch and savory groove

I had the truth bent it almost broke it
Now its in the shape of a lie
I tried to use it to comfort others
most of them ended up crying

Like good thoughts through your mind.

 Through the head
Through your mind
reach down deep
what will you find?

Through your insides
Inner image clear
through your process
Destroy useless fear

Through day dream
doubt loses purchase
up the rockface
mindset toward striving

Like an emotion bursting open
flowering in the heart
Raising your vibration
through the challenge

Like a prayer that aligned
that shot lifeforce through you
pointing you in the right direction
Sending you onward gracefully

The mountain recites me

 There is a top, where all must get off
Some will be lifted, back to the past.
There is stop, life is a dance.
People search for slops, crumbs become dust.

There is top, where most attempt to climb.
Slow braking for some, the end of the ride.
A hard crash for others,
Senses subside.

Lust for the lush, ideal home. 
There is hindering, under the bones.
Instore is a thunder, that readies its roar.
Crater bell we ring, summit utters its demands.
There's an old song coming from the highlands.

There is a climb, take a rise, rub my sin.
Can't rub away my purpose, see it from within.
Standing even taller now, humid fog on knees.
Metamorphic heart immune to your disease
The mountain reads aloud, every word I wrote.
Reverberating verbs, from its stoney throat.

The words travel up, toward a fussing sun.
Reads the next line, with granite chimney lungs
Loosening grass roots, rigid searching hands.
Winter cast it's net, summer killed it's plans.
There is a song, coming from the highlands.
Dust to their apathy, glory to the mountain.

Michael and the queue

 Michael stood out at the convention
He was too tall and waiting in the wrong place
He wasn't going to be attented to
As I walked toward him I smiled and shook his hand

I didn't tell him he was forming a queue where there was no attendance
He would wait there for quite a time still
And this would be his day at the fair
Crowds of loud and quiet people

There was a slice of gossip and excitement for each one
Confusion for some envy for others
Long lines of armchairs where the weary could sit
Waiting for some event to begin

Something that would rouse them from their passive comfort
To get them to mosey on down toward the action, wait in a queue
One that predictably went nowhere as certain people were chosen only
Much of life can be lived like that, they leverage your interest

You live inside someone else's audience

Getting out of the valley

 Exiting the valley through a caged tunnel.
Electrified.
The tropical canopy exposed through bombing.
I tried to find things to deviate the current.

Then lift the chicken wire up so i could make it out.
Somewhere closer to the moutains.
Untouchable and incredible.
But I was stuck attempting not to shock myself.

Trembling at the thought of another electric snap!
So I just gazed upon those mountains.
I just imagined what my freedom might feel like.
I didn't push it, Maybe current would subside,

Maybe I needed to adapt myself to the shock.

Loud mouth

 The loud mouth sat inside the bus stop.
Shouting out loud
Unaware I could understand his voice
The old lady came walking out of the minimart
Crossing the empty road
interacting with the loud mouth
Like mother and son

The pale crusty faced loudmouth blabbered as I passed by
Screaming his inside joke to the elderly woman crossing
She apporached him with her groceries and new stories
Scolding and my presence and affirming his derision of me
Maybe if I had their eyes I would see myself as a zombie
One they zombared and mocked for fun afternoon distraction
They were pale ghouls to me obstacles to avoid in the growing shade of four pm.