Relax it all and mellow out,
the ladder rungs are greased, no doubt
so chill the fuck, Winston and once
you let the beat stand still
and lay a screen like wheels peeled
against starting line cement and seal
yourself in the drum and beat pill box,
fortifying your shoulders like chopped rocks
against wave tops you can be
individually freed to swim the sea
of music and see where we and you
actually come from and tree
like blood on a sidewalk cut free
from your body into the cracks,
into the soil, where truth boils
black to clear in beds of tin foil and
needle point. Ebb and flowmatose,
conscious and catatonic,
tripping the light fantastic
in the darkness, life shelled sonic.
