Sir Isaac Newton's Grapefruit Vine

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, November 24, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses



"If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants."

I’m comprised of neutrons, sitting under Isaac Newton’s grapefruit vine
While the blinding hues of a rising moon debate the skies
Arguing logic, analyzing the smog from the tropics at Solomon’s cottage
Yet phantoms lie in the bottom prerogatives, awaiting their time
The view from the Tower of Babel was dismal so we stapled the blinds
The blood is the people, the nation’s the spine, the emulations align
This planet is a forest of spirits - souls generate with the pines
As hollow man has an out-of-body experience to Kevin Bacon’s surprise
Each scintillating image carries a headwind of differentiating physics
Apple cider, just a tidbit. Don’t count on getting slim from Satan’s picnic
An Episcopalian mystic manages to nick the richest maize in Venice
Sabotaged the Galvatron war machine with Mr. Reagan’s limericks
Waiting for the end of the world’s taking up too many visitation minutes
Apprentice slaves committed to skim the slowly eviscerated Plymouth
Vesuvius was only a preview, paratroopers fall to the siren tress and granite
I lie in rest at Albert Camus campus, after we hit the decks, they brand us
The most divine questions left unanswered, collecting metrics, gammas
Speaking to the sun in sign language, then write it down on Rosetta’s canvas
Try reading War and Peace on a battlefield with pacifists and desert bandits
Salvage bits of the planetary balance: two family trees & Kepler’s hammock
In a manner of words, the story of Earth is simply a bitch to recount
Your honor, the witness would like to make a statement: STFU AND GTFO
I’ve studied the formations of universal laws, still learning the Trivium now
If you’re wondering what this presidential shit is about, pay attention
And read slow, naysayer’s mention I freeload within perimeters of Free Rome
In remembrance: Cecil Rhodes, clench-fisted rebellions at the beast’s home
Selling cheap genetic breeds grown at dehumanizing vineyards of the genome
An apple a day keeps the germicide away, at least according to my quotient
Pour some kerosene, repeat "the sacrifice of our lives? A bold omen"
But gravity is a cool idea until a coconut splits the side of your skull open
Indulge, Odin, drink up these capsules of wisdom, let us bless the old kings
Put some silver bullets into Midas to suppress his gold gleam
I suck at the breast of Norse queens, and if they’ve got scabies, “my god, ladies!”
I guess I’ll have to hire a pest control team for the Garden of Eatin
When part of me weakens, I feel the force inside compressing
Let the demon hordes collide my brethren, this is borderline depression
If you’re a Mormon, buy a weapon, but there’s more to my suggestion
I’m a grandmaster of false alarms with a shield adorned in fire emblems
So excuse Dorian’s Gray expression and his portrait sized collection
And don’t mind the Russian glocks, I’m punching clocks
And spinning backfisting hourglasses, while following scuffed footprints
On a less traveled atlas - snatch your axe from the palisade to defeat you
What captivated the Hebrews was that the masquerade wasn’t see through
The palace aids worship Vishnu, some Appalachians that were peaceful
In the end, we’re all on islands of solitude, so cast away was a prelude
Now I’m not trying to say my accolades should be preached to
The average grades of the people, reciting Aramaic and rallying over Nibiru
The matinees for Ezekiel, mass arrays of scarabs basted in diesel
If these are indeed the last days, that’s a catch phrase for a reboot
Avenue full of murky surreys -
Carriages moving, errands of Freudians
Fallen shards of blue uniforms echo the barren Bermuda
Burying Coolidge inside a time capsule sent to heaven’s entombment
It’s the dead of winter as heli-pincers roam the higher ranges
Petroleum burns seep through torn off Tom Clancy title pages
Slight arraignments accompany splinter cellulites & night sedations
Omega cipher cyber stations try to collect the kilobytes to stave them
I’d expand more on these paradoxes but I’ll let the kids quiet down
Stay tuned for the next episode… John Wilkes Booth’s misfired round

In : Rhymed Verses 



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