that So Cal
This is a letter of intent:
no lyricist nor poet has been spared,
with culture's genocide looming too close, too close.
consider this swift list of Yesterdays.
Scrolling through soft-lettered playlists, artists, and beats,
just another fool lost in the legacies.
What to do with music so wistful,
just hype with the flavor of Yesterday.
And raised phrases flailing about,
yet unwilling in leaving inspiration so soon, so soon.
These kite-line lips and sun-stained hands,
advancing from the blight of Yesterday.
What, so singular the idea, so dissimilar the thought,
of tasks to clothe unwarmed hands?
Unsought gifts give the yet-to-be-fathomed,
all for the present of Yesterday.
To spring forth thoughts anew, fingers brimming with unwavering joy,
and to brush off the uncertainty.
Untethered, unblemished, unpolished.
Portraits poignant in the color of Yesterday.
With bright feelings, ecstatic in the bask of tension,
glowing with pretentions and hints of arrogance.
Pallid, but pulsing, rythyms convulsing,
a shudder to shutter the blinds of Yesterday.
Succint and extinct,
a leisurely glance refracted 'twixt smiles and smiles.
Savoring gestures, pure and puzzling,
only to grasp the illusion of Yesterday.
A token of risk, to be spent and rent,
gambled for a terse lick of life.
What folly, what folly,
to waste the value of Yesterday.
Desires cured and sanities sustained,
a bolt driven home to secure these bloodless veins.
A heart hungry -and hollow-
for the burden of Yesterday.
So from this letter,
this selfish list,
could you rescue these haunts today?
Else I fear to face my Tomorrows,
lacking my Yesterdays.
(4/12/10 - 4/13/10)