The Rip

Breeze offsets the heat of the day
Light teases that it might still keep its power in our minds,
Through the free night
The cool sets in, deprived of sleep
and forces us into ours
The evening pre-emptively rolls in.
The throng howls past like its own entity
A beast comprised of its own unsuspecting victims
It is free, and rolling, carpet lays out,
Horns spew forth, their lines of melody or lack of.
The day goes on like a tenorman consumed by his expulsion of ideas and fantasies
The day is explosive.
The rip drags all through its free flow of thought and lust
A sick freedom that consumes all, and regurgitates it into
the moral gutter where it sits in sloth and togetherness

Such dense  rhythm disguises any form or arrangement
Thick with drums and beat, that any might tap along without
any awareness of form.
Fuck form, and abandon melody
Be grating and disharmonious
Fight the rip until it holds you to the ocean floor to drown.
They say drowning is peaceful, and despite what people think,
it is most desirable to die before one's time.
A timely death is one of pain, reversion, and captivity

Think long on suffering, for that is all that we have
and joy is only morphine
It might sound negative, but it is not.
When reality is faced, one sees that happiness is a facade
A nice and valuable illusion, but that is all
Just as cold is lack of heat, so happiness is a lack of pain.

So lets roll on with the rip, and the tenor man, and the relentless drummer
Let the throng sweep you up and wash you along it's rank estuaries
and out into it's nightmare sea where the rip pounds you against the reef.
Perhaps then we can be free from the slow death of timeliness.