EVERY NIGHT I SPIT A BIT

delivering waste

joy I end up
with the most wild ideas
that burned the college out
and kicked off the brain
I can’t tell you any by now
don’t worry
this thing I’m helping
is still not insane
I just can not take real
but yet I function the brain
strange linking every time
clap it loud to daring dead poets
those traveling driving around
seeding wins over death
but is slow anyhow
and often missing
the frameless image of it all
never quitting ever pushing
the same ways over town
always guilty for bombs
assaulting cans
and heavily public destruction
sadness or misery
to something useful easy to say
few people think everyday
knowing little about the air
or doing truthful growing brave
joy there was nothing else
that I could say