Pikture Perfekt

PIKTURE PERFEKT

She sleeps like a wooden beam,

gorgeous like you wouldn’t believe.

Railroading my thoughts so I can dream,

boosting each other’s self-belief simultaneously.

Grief haunting us when learning to breathe.

He’s wide awake inside a book that speaks,

words to a world, a truth humanity needs.

Ancestors used feather pens.

Today: an electric lens.

The future—well, that depends.

Beyond my pad is what I’ll make-belief:

a new map of infinity,

the road to Neumanity.

Taking notes on all my demons equalised,

hell’s bequeathed.

These souls do neither.

Sometimes we don’t break—

we hold

each other

in our vulnerabilities.

Bleeding barcode between the ethers.

Seeking unknown knowledge.

Unlucky 13 knows.

Align—meant,

written by a scholar,

premonitions of a paradox.

Scribble out the scripture.

Rip it up.

Let kids fingerprint the pyramids.

Forget about the gold—

there’s diamond hieroglyphics.

I’m hiding in existence

like my hidden signature.

I’m older than time.

Energy is everything—

exponentially.

This is déjà vu—

repeating

what I wrote

centuries ago.

Enlightenment fitting in your pocket:

a pad of poems,

tattered scrolls,

warmth for the cold.

See, I like to kid around and stir the pot,

mathematical beauty.

Let me scribble out the plot.

It thickens.

Give you a tip—let’s play.

Let’s give:

your pen to the cops,

your worth to your boss.

Let’s get

your purpose

to your soul.

Yeah, yeah—

you say you’ve heard this all before.

We all been flawless.

All we’ve been is flawed.

Less—

we get up off the floor,

beg for more,

and forget

to pause for a second.

Learn a little less about falling,

and a little more

about the fluorescent

light source

calling for you—

to learn

about the rise,

how high your hands

can climb.

So we can spend

less time on the floor,

and more time

helping others toward

thinking less

about their flaws.

Lest we forget

the test—

to become

flawed less.