Hail to the metronome.

it's leaders, cease fire,
rhythm standing between the argument and case.

lay low, business men, lay low:



it's neither safe for you, nor the rationale that's encased your game.

ring ring ring,
we swing together on beat,

swiveling a mystery; of up and down,
following or leading,
our foots tapping or our bodies moving,
slaves to our own decadent ownerships.

we lie, do we not?
we steal, do we not?

jingling our thoughts in sporadic succession,
like the construction of eminent rain,
canvasing the ground to form puddles;
these signatures of the earth.

we swing back to what we are.
we swing pass original thoughts.
we swing, centered.



hail to the metronome.