This is, uh, Spoon Jackson, and I got this little poem I wrote about COVID-19 before I was tripping with it, and I’m still recovering from it. COVID-19.
I cannot imagine keeping social distance from you when the moon reflects your light. I know 19 ways to love you, 19 ways to touch you, but none to stay away from you.
I cannot stand it to look at you from a distance and create some resistance. I cannot stand it, you being there with my eyes paced you, that you are a distant star. I got no 19 ways to love you, 19 ways to touch you, but not stay away from you. Can a fish live without water, can a sea live without fish in the shore, can anyone social distance from food, drink, or breath?
COVID-19 may dispatch our lives like Romeo and Juliet, and the thought of not holding you for a moment or a thousand years could kill me, because I’ve got 19 ways, 19 ways to touch you, but not to stay away from you. What does it all mean, this life [inaudible]?
The [inaudible] blew up last night. Must’ve been like a bomb, so loud it was silent. Everyone ran, but me. I heard later the whole wall could have shattered. I stood there watching the panic, rolling a cigarette, it was- it didn’t matter. It was my karmic death. Why weren’t you writing? I have nothing to write, nothing to say over two years of this life has been wasted away: my karma death.
I want to tell someone, some lady, I love her, not to get sex but just because I do. No reasons, no conditions where there’s just being in natural love like karma death. I came here today to perhaps share [inaudible] together, but it didn’t work out, so I just walked away. It was my karma death.
and uh, this one is called “A Vulture’s Pack.”
Tonight, I looked at the sky and there were no moon. If there was, I could not see it. Once again, I wonder where the moon is hiding when it is not going. Once again, this night, teardrops fly just above the surface, waters fill my eyes that have cried a billion years. Once again, sadness feel my heart, and has yet to share its [inaudible].
Once again, smiles lie beneath my frown. The vultures pack [inaudible] that smiles a thousand smiles.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.