Mister Guided


Call me Mister Guided


The Ill qualified shepherd to a flock I must have
Incorrectly directed, but interestingly half cast aside as if undecided
Undeniably in control
I roll to so as to cause all within my zone
To wander off course with odds worse than bones thrown
As I lounge from way up low on my shaky throne As if guesswork could maybe sway, lead astray That sad patchwork of alla dem blasted clown, fool and jerk I claim as kin
Ridin east into sunsets alone and grim
Locked within this thin skin, instruction scribbling
With no pen nor plan, all penned in and pretending
To issue commands on a whim
Then call me Mister Guided again
Go on, call me that one more time! Just say that again!
And goddamn, I’m scarred, let’s get gone with the wind!
Frankly, my sense of direction is a subject that researchers
Find so puzzling, so hustle and cram to define this as a win
Or loss
Your left is my right, and your effect my cause
My conscience, of course, a tundra, savannah, or forest
With vapours exhaled in a chorus of fumes, clouds your view
The many, as well as the few
Dumbass and wise man alike of all shape, size and hue
So call me Mister Guided, the one who strut and glided
So cool my fire is ice dried, it burned and burst mercury to the core geo-thermal Cold epidural jabbed into your fluid spinal
Mister guide your mind into spirals
Sub zero degrees below seas, glacial and indefinable
The guy to re-route your very essence, take the leaf, branch, and stems
Of your soul and bend them into shapes of strange weapons
Teaching incomprehensible lessons
That hobble intelligence with loud pops of blown tendons
Mister Guide your ass knows better to misdemeanours and felons
Poison letters, not to mention shitty investments that lead to
Bankruptcy and payment delinquency,
So that eventually you can’t quite seem to see
Where you going or where you been to, see
That’s why you could call me Mister Guided!
The non Godhead of bad gui-dance
So come nuh man, and dance in my gar-den
All sane thoughts and good intentions lost and smarting
With no indication that map quested roads lead to dirt paths
Ending in lakes and volcanoes where there be dragons,
Unexpected tolls, bridge trolls, and whatever else God only knows
So, run come!
Follow trails of bread crumbs that led some into endless circles
Swallow time and matter and all manner of man and beast, sperm whales to gerbils And I know it sounds terrible,
But even they call me Mr. Guided
Now give me all your attention all tense ADH and divided
More horribly quiet than bus and trains collided
With upper deck video shown in slow mo,
Too blessed to stop the flow of hasty buffaloes
So stressed and carelessly guileless to be guideless
So pay no mindless you godless Master P say bout it Ugh!
Best call me Mister Guided
Mister bypass the line and slip thru the back door
Mister four on the floor, but symmetrically seven-sided
Mister please sir, want more to make more off a child soldier or laborer
Mister dead end detour, all derelict and derided
Mister slippery slope, wage slave and rope, lynch and death row
Confess? Nope! But rapturously confided
Mister lead you on, dwen stepping backwards when it’s most awkward
Smooth as clockwork, to dock you pay for the shock of days off took
Cuz you too drunk off the gas and oxycontin
That knocked your voice up two octaves when you backslided
Mister three eyed but no insighted, rubbed the wrong way raw so rawhided
Mister stab your astrolabe, bad transmission global imposition satellited
Conused compass flatlined, forever sidelined and mystified and
Truth blinded
Is why it’s fine to
Call me Mister Guided

© nth digri 2015


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