Writing rhymes like it’s daytime
Sunshine, each ray is aligned
The page is enshrined
Holy holy art thou, star child
Beneath dark clouds, the god smiled
Cigars out, my jaws pout
The [?] flakes leave a weed taste in the mouth
For Pete’s sakes, it tastes like cheesecake from the South
A ghostly woman told me I was summoned
Since a young’un swimming around in my mother’s stomach
When I was born, I heard trumpets
My baby carriage turned into a chariot
Priest is one of the Seven Wonders

Among your monks at the Taj Mahal
Iguanas on the wall
Waterfalls, conscience is pure
This order restores the aura of laws
Each I recall
Past and the presence
From adolescence to math and the lessons
This craft is from the heavens
Photograph the records, to pass a message
From the ancestors
Where you will need the plants with the treasures, to last forever
My mic is a measuring rod, from the present to god
Walter Wallace Farad
Electric nirvana empowers the star
I place my pen in the holy hours in a cosmic tower beneath the powers on Mars