Water,
This I seek
Like a baptism
Into the world that is real
That vibrates here
Hinting of promised times
When boys no longer fall
And men no longer cry
Where the sea, the salt, and the sun
Shine.
And we surf on waves from paradise.
And women no longer become objects for mutilation.
And their beauty doesn’t make us crazy,
longing, deluded, that human genitals could get us closer.

And these words
They fly
They vibrate
They resonate
For ever and
More.
As the castle
That I see
In the new world
Stands tall and true
And the fantasy mirage of lawn mowers
Is nothing more than flakes of dust of dandruff of mortar
To that which is real
And the sun
Shines
And the sea
Sparkles
And the boat floats gingerly
In paradise.

the new artist is bold.
he is aware.
he finds patches of grassland
by the concrete
where trees live
and rests there
as suv's and motorcycles follow each other
on the paved avenue
with android drivers pursuing fluff
they, shocked senseless from Sony sound waves,
and stinky money that is used
to obtain barren morsels of Dorito pleasure.

the new artist tells the truth
and creates
and waits
and knows
that he is on to what is real
and hangs out with God
on the corner of College and Roosevelt
grateful
that beauty still reflects
despite
the noise
of
utter
complete
distraction.