8 on Tour, 11 on Shore

I stood inside a moment, 

where people just walked by— 

They ignored my presence, 

as if I was in disguise— 

I seek minds of reflection, 

and tell of,
they rhyme.

I can feel through the music 

that breaks up the distance 

of quiet finds. 

I am strong
and filled with force— 

I awaken my insides 

and ask them
to run their course. 

I find myself in moments of truth, 

when life swings over
and corrupts the vine. 

Creates notion of relation
and altered states of Kind—
I trust in the humanity
of a Rainbow,
so few—
It becomes fluid to me,
and I,
furthermore,
manifest proof. 

I am the White Rabbit, 

The Vanilla you smell, 

when you go to bed early, 

as if a Band Aid could tell. 

I am appreciative of Love 

and all the Might it brings;
I am full of Love,
and I know it seems… 

…like maybe so, 

maybe not,
I resemble
a girl all alone,
or maybe a salmon,
who watched the 2000’s 

strip music chiefly to the bone. 

I open my throat filled with blue— radiating the tribal sound 

of all Truth,
as we observe Hope 

get to be of knew. 

I have so many friends, 

and they all have a pH level 

of ’67—
so acidic;
they seem to be okay 

with poetic mention. 

I feel I am just;
I know I am full
of beauty and gust—
I unlock the Floor.

When I fall through the surface, 

I find something dear,
a moment of dance—
a moment I dreamed of
so clear. 

There is a dove that trails me, 

and writes up my mind, 

who creates synchronicity 

then tells me, I am blind. 

— a monkey on a string? 

— or a blonde full of guilt? 

what is the difference, 

besides how society views our skill? 

But,
I step back,
For I manifest my own reality.
I am dignified in the way I walk
and seek true authenticity.
— — I, first, wanted a soul — —
another that could save me 

(from this Hell I concentrated), 

but invisibility is a cloak 

of a wizard never traded.

I know my worth times three,
and I see you in perfect fallacy.
Supposedly, I died when I was 16,
therefore, this world I live in
will never control me. 

I am strength;
I am lion to the bone.
I believe in Water reconciling
in waves of flow.
… I make a joke of myself 

—A Fool for the Sky 

who wanted someone to admit to me
that my wings could expand and fly.
(The clones are getting closer),
I can feel the shadows growing opaque.
I put my intent into the fire,
and happy I am
when I blow out that which conspires. 

My senses are flared,
so, CUE*,
it is — is
to adjust— —
my traction
to my inability
to rise above the morning’s crust.
> Stop! < I remark
on the value of tries. 

Possibilities are true,
but actions must be not, 

because I get stuck in myself, 

before removing my personality’s rust. 

I am Gold.
I am Copper.
I am Silver lining the barrel— 

of a sword
that stops
with the ending
of the carousel. 

They all laugh at me,
as they trot on by
and act like I am crazy, 

just like Bertha,
who gave losing herself a try. 

[I am a rose enthralled with theme] 

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