Eight laid-

Hard copy: no hard drive, no floppy…
Photo in the phone though.
The sun gave me my own glow,
to share it or bask.
I arbitrarily pass
at times at this task
to muddle and muck
with those who run amok,
enshrining saviors’ smocks,
emotionally and spiritually grid locked.
Grid or Matrix…
Semantics; the same shit.
Freedom I taste it.
And this is what it sounds like…
That there was silence,
not peace with the taint of violence
as its father
thus bastardized.
Our current “peace” is war’s bastard child.
So this net of mine, I cast it wide,
yet spare the fish I catch inside.
Read not what is said. Read what’s implied.