Don’t move

And you will not sink into the quicksand

Water plus dirt equals mud

Me and Shovel

Digging in the crates

In the back yard making outdoor mix tapes

Just like a picnic sitting on the ground

Digging fat meals which simmer in the sound

Though you can’t just think of this

If I took a fist in your stomach

Or a lunge punch to the ribs

Dibs on that which you want

Or put too much salt and pepper

On the food in the vault that you entered

Gourmet combination

The story that I’m an ancient puzzle piece of the sacred jigsaw

Beheading all big heads with antique donkey jaws

Riding on a mule with a saddle bag of rhymes

In a canyon with a canteen on my waste

My plan was see the place

That I was yet to go

I bet this bro falls in the mud

And waterfalls of suds

In the empty box of tide

Building adobe huts

Out of blocks of rhymes

As sharp as a Flowbee cuts

(Shovel Head)

Knuckle bloodied

Kamallie I call thee Godzilla

Fulfill the art of a saurus

A porous

Prosperous Rasta janitor

A murderous manhandler

Humbled homeless skullheaded shovel

We dug dig out on the double

From under the Persian rug into a pitfall

Searching pharmaceutical halls

And medicine cabinet

An addict pursuing the cures for the uncommon potholes

In the grass

Forcing a halt to the shaman’s head cold

Seeping through the nostrils

Being that we were so hostile

We asked for directions

For the treasure map

My pleasure map contained a trap door

Beneath the wood floor

Mistaken for the Parkay buttered

We muttered on our way to the park place

A picnic basket

And a head case

Suited in the fast paced lane kidnapped

Mission to signal to an exit on the off ramp

We knap sacked

Slumber bag creates a camp

It’s harsh

A fire roasted bellowed voice in the serenity of the surrounding marsh

The smell was harsh

But the sight was worse

Trying to fight this thirst

Dying to light this first lantern of kerosene

The sterile beam of sanitized laser dust

Hypnotize those learning to bust or trust

Walk behind and in front’a

Rewind your life to plecentia

Instrument and a banjo on my knee

Comin’ around a mountain of clay pots

Breaking

Dancing

On a potter’s wheel at work

Shifting potters

As I teeter totter

On the pulse of a dying robot

Oh I forgot