Lit Bomb

If I was made with a purpose, it was to hunt shadows.
But sometimes the gatherer breaks his lantern.
And we think that only refers to food,
but really, everytime I get baked I'm making bread
to go glucose grow another other's extra heads.
and really, everytime I get heated under that other hunter's lantern,
the glucose comes from my bone marrow as surely as the sun sucks the color off our dead.
So if his only real defense is the light he sheds,
let's call him a hyena, a vulture, a scavenger instead?

But what is wrong with that?
Hyenas have among the strongest jaws in metaphor,
sometimes a bit higher
than the laws of science says,
but "bite force" is more use to me lyrically than measured,
as humans are the weakest mammals
to ever steadily rule the planet with strength.

So the comparison is apt!
A T-Rex could crush any of us in half
but lose the choice cuts underfoot to ravaging next-generation clansmen.
But calling them hip kids less than outstanding is a
difficult sell when grandstanding for their
If lizard people exist, a demonic T-Rex was their
way-back-when daddy!

So if they're listening - they're not -
I should take back all of this deranged rambling.
I'm high again, by the way. That's a poor excuse.

Being high is slow motion thoughts
and jerky, extended square-cube law effects -
I wonder if my neurons are affected,
so more connections in the center that clog up incoming traffic
The brain is a data center city, and the the the muscles are server farms -
same thing, by the way, but feed me more grains
More cattle, more poetry prattle; big drain now from Africa,
we'll pay for tuition but not a ticket back -
why develop their ports-in when we'll import it all back?

Being high is writing these words and making them make sense.
They're my steed, beast of flight, and adventure trip bike.
Being high is hearing these words and letting them make sense.
With the vision of eagles you'll steal up mud friends -
The bloodbaths don't lack for wounded to take in.
Grow 'em up right 'n expose them to fighting,
then sic 'em on weak ones, or just kill em 'then;

You could feed of sadness and do no real damage,
but you'd rather be leeches?
They're greasy, slimy, and completely indecent,
naturally unattractive to a thin skinned being
(who, nonetheless doesn't breath through it),
and unnaturally attractive to any person not agreeing.

Hyenas are glossy, warm, and like cuddle puddles.
And if some of us like slime piles,
there's just some more goop in they head's luggage.
I'll accept my cousin who eats bugs when there's nothing.

Oh, and I've got something, dude!
These droppings -
I'm off to consume the next, yes, second-to-best crew.
I'd like to choose better, but what can one do?
This scaly hyena with short legs but deep claws
has got em all on the girl I would do.

We'll bring it full circle, when I was sitting, wishing, hoping
she'd find her way home.
But I found a fire inside of me, and made a paper lantern to shield the flame
and shed the light.
Our homestead's not much, but we had love and two bullets.
I'm clutching my rifle, but focused on her tracks.
Like dumb forest creatures, we left each other abandonded.
My planning is good, it's good-goddamn manic;
I'm writing this poem at noon in my head
and I might at midnight put it in action.

We had a good thing going; I seemed like 968,
but you were 1053 with everything, you were so great.
I found an audience to work my own magic,
beacuse to you I did have it!

Everyone else sees through,
it's true, you can ask em.
You were the only one fooled,
but I slipped up, my habit.