Pitch Poem by chris bowen

the day of life comes, meaning people get to dance.when the wind blows the night away, and the dust is settled, better heads will prevail is not the magic potion they use.they hate like a fortress adressed.they hate you for having kids and then asking them to feem them.they love art? no, not one.the bull in the C.I.A. dont care, they play their own game.american subversive i am, but they cant make me go away, orry main has my back.the last trip is, allen ginsberg is special, his poem 'the howl'is not.magic words are missing and im better than him when im asleep.break necks in the street is my plan, ive held back my whole life and people already talk about how violent i am.what is to come is seeds planted by them come to fruition.the trip is, black shoe laces are untied when im around, and they found me on amelia island, tiny fernandina beach, not newark new jersey.i dont have an affiliation to sewers like they do.the american flag is raped and had even on nights not saturday.the idea is, people are villians and jesus will come back and seperate the good from the evil.will he return soon enough to kill us? jesus is a baboon and i like him not one bit.he trips on his own words, copied from mithras, another saviour god who predated him.love is fortune and i dont have it to spend.the limbs in hawaii are bending from the wind, but they never break, less they have clubs.the overdub song will play out in clubs where stars are dancing tonight, and they have it tragically.