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Fallen Leaves

from Greyscale Oblivion by Slumber Logic

/

about

Reconciling self-love with accountability.

lyrics

Verse 1:

when you’ve got little more than gum and cigarette butts for agendas of the red rug The general consensus is your head is fulla bed bugs,
young ensin:
“don’t you wanna be large, and lemmiwink your gestations till they're calling you sarge?”
Its shouldn’t be hard
though that door may be stuck in ajar, it only acts as countermagic for the buffing of lard
into a baffling ambergris sculpture of god,
Slash spring mechanism for unremarkable plods, so applause is maybe maple syrup in the gas tank of a nervous steppinwolf’s wirling dervish.
The fertile earnest hershel merchant’s got gerbils in the furnace which blur the purpose for the parking the Porpoise with a marketing performance.
Not a foreman, more a tribal tortoise tryna find a silo for these orchids plowed by porches at the viacom asylum orgy.
Hunger pains for something strange, tunnel from the numbers game, shovelling funnel cakes till the shovel stanks.


Verse 2:

Seein intra-Acrylic, finnin to Snip the pinna
Recognition for still waters is seldom idyllic, still a Lazy-boy logician fixed in his quixotism will be fogging up the windows with the sticky syllogisms regardless if kingfishers read the stitched wing pigeon’s scribble screaming phoenix in definitive juxtaposition.
And that’s A Double edged sword, but what isn’t?
Many pawn the Hanzo just to find it’s Bedtime for Bonzo and as the venom trickles down a Reaganomic gongshow, its hard to jaunt to the bravado of your own bongos and this monolith you powdered with a phantom limb is Just a mannequin behind Enchanting mists, try your hand again.
Another stab at the Hornets in the bonnet punching sob-sonnets with the serpentine borrowed yardstick.
Windows Rattled by the gravy train passing by, so KPI’s get the stank lazy eye emaciated by safety-guide banter for the gander Turkey-baster-baby-anthems birthing Pantomimy standards…
Over here necromancing scarabs in amber till I’m shanking every canvas in a masochistic tantrum


Verse 3
Seeing literary pyrotechnics for yeti shepherds, levy pressures sketched into their Epigenetics
Penny Heffer wolf headed spaghetti westerns,
Lifelong Crises of identities getting Jessica Fletchered by the voices like bonobos on macs hacking the pentagon animorphing cobras into ladder rungs, shutterbugs flashing if you cut a rug, duck a lip sip the sludge from the scuttlebutt to shuttle up another echelon.
Having pelicans coaching you like a peloton on how top the varmint autobaun with melodram.
Ah! You came to see a plush landscape, well, all he paints is goat headed nuns smoking blunts at clambakes.
The flexibility granted by anonymity is one of wanderlust abandon from the vanity of the hand that feeds, but if a monkey puzzle drops in the forest does it slap something gorgeous with no one there to enjoy it?
Canvases is of grafted skin, holding life and limb, all work no praise turn brainy works of art to Grady twins.
And to my siblings of this plateau, I doff the chapeau--fallen leaves undisturbed by afterglow

credits

from Greyscale Oblivion, released November 1, 2021

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about

Slumber Logic image

Slumber Logic Toronto, Ontario

slumber logic is a lucid dream where you decide to fly, the question of simulated life, growth patterns inherent in nature that coax adaptation, and the author's rakish lethargy.

Producer,
MC,
Turntablist,
Poet,
Toronto, Ontario, Canada. ... more

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