Groping for the Hour of Freedom

 

Groping for the Hour of Freedom

 

I

Dick Greeder got him self locked up for a while

But hell, what’s a wee spell of time

With no file nor bail? More time for eating,

Building up meat and the cut of his gib,

Getting to meet the meat off the street

With their tales of defeat

At the hands of the filth on the beat,

Back in the cage recharging the hate

Loving the highs. Nay for the clock

That’s still late, its rhythm

Out of shape and syncopation

With the erratically curved bio rhythms

Of Dick Greeder, current incarcerate

 

………………….Up and down

Pumping iron; harder going up,

Softer coming down-

Unlike real real life

Which is the other way around..

…………… around and around

The rat run yard

Getting dizzy absorbing the hate

“Call round later?”

“No man! I’ll be off my head”

 

Dick Greeder queues for his bread

While the clock tries to keep up;

Head down avoiding its eye

And some others he’d rather not

Socio-lies with along the social path

 

Tick tock by two- too many

 

II

Big plans are afoot;

Meat up, build up

Wise up, sober up

Cleaned up, feeling strong

Meditating in containment,

Distracted, waiting for the slow gate

Recharge a sense of liberation

 

No! But that never works

Cause Dick Greeder’s cage is the skin

He’s wrapped up in

 

 

He’s not meditating

Merely storm whipping behind those eyes

Dreaming of resetting clocks

A virgin pendulum launched,

Osmotic creep of cog on wheel

Inciting the groping hands

Forever tracking the hour of freedom,

He thinks!

 

In his young sullied mind

Plotting slowly,

Calm in the currency of currently

Which is currently common as time

 

The wisdom of time takes time to descend

 

 

III

Greeder’s segments were chopped up too small

Scattered too wide, like a half woven web

Lacking core strength, like flesh in collision

With cold wielded steel

Driven with malice: intent, satisfaction even.

 

Tick-tock, tick-tock-tock-tick-tick-tock

Goes the leering clock  

For the sullied young mind, storm whipping;

Big plans afoot…by the gate…

The ones he’s never met yet…

Licking his lips,

Meditating-

With malice-intent,

A desire needing t’ be sated…

 

Tick-tock goes the clock

Past the Wisdom of Time

Groping for the hour of Freedom

Cynically indifferent