Stretching yoga to Hello Nasty
Bending this body in awkward positions
Head bobs & an elderly b-boy stance
Personal history leads me to contrition
Doc says my ticker isn’t what it once was
My mind is young, but I’m not at my peak
Slowly degrading upon each sunrise
Not quite old, yet bordering on antique
One must be a seeker
To discover unique truth amongst the thorns
Head down, hiding that grime I feel inside
I’m intelligent, yet not enough to forewarn
Trying to eek out a stable existence
With all these storms heading my way
But you have to want to be something more
Never content at the beginning of the day
We’re bordering on anarchy
With the streets continuing to seethe
This communal madness
Fighting for our shared right to breathe
But I have a long forgotten confession
Which will leave you confused & aghast
Tacked to the back of a soul’s liberty
Forever within the defense of our contrasts
“I don’t trust anything that popular. It borders on the levels of Nazism or the Macarena.”
Captain Q 