From The Lab

The Spirit of Detroit?

"Blue-collar," "9-to-5," "Work hard, play hard,"
Exhausted, played out phrases, when it comes to
Detroit. Dangerous, desolate, deadly,
Adjectives all too commonly heard,
When it comes to Detroit.
Judge not the inner workings as an outsider;
Accept but your small slice of the spectrum,
Interpret a single experience at face value,
Nothing more.
Every facet reflects
A street corner, a moment, a dinner table's conversation;
The Life, The Death, The Scene.

The Spirit of Detroit?
The so-called spirit is potential;
It is little more than remainders,
Reminders, ghost like traces of history.
A city is many things, a collection
Of current trends, accomplishments, and the mistakes
Illuminated through hindsight's overbearing glow.
A city is individual, accompanied within the collective,
And subject to the same ups and downs an individual experiences.

A city divided against itself can stand,
Though only for a moment,
Solid foundations of character can be reduced in time,
Eroded into shaky blueprints and
Crumbled plinths. Dependency on the past
Is an antique dependency,
A thrown away idea,
Buried beneath the oily gearshifts, tires
Spent metal, rag, and glass of memory's junkyard.
Self made tough times are tough times
Nonetheless.

The needs of the few outweigh the many,
In this diluted, wolf-eat-dog trap/mentality/lifestyle.
Recreating. Thriving in the beginning
Where there was light
And dark. And passion;
Detroit is passion.
Passionate about Lions and Tigers and Wings,
Passionate about music and culture and fashion,
Passion which leads to love and hate. Life and death.
Light and Dark.
Even the strongest, brightest community hides a shadow in the back.
But a truth here is not twisted, as in other places,
It is revealed. Spotlight on the shadows,
Revealing the nasty bits that thrive within.
Knowing where not to step simplifies
An already difficult journey.

From The Lab

slow burn

Blows to the head that fog the eyes,
Lost, long gazes through the atmosphere,
Ticket for a trip through consciousness,
Annual vacation taken all damn year,
Rubber worn thin, challenging to steer,
Blown tires, fused, no brakes in Taylor Classics,
Lungs aflame, brain now in tune, nothing less than something drastic.

Seeking shamanistic cures,
Herbs and spices, blended rums,
Experimenting with the temple,
The earth may worship when I'm done,
Another rising phoenix disappearing in the sun;
Back to the clouds to taste the wind and elevate the mind,
Journeys for the holy grail, that first love left to find.

From The Lab

The Best You Can Hope For

Tested, time and time again,
Challenges met and conquered,
Friends to foes and foes to friends,
Developed back to monsters;
Battles not yet won or lost,
Decisions left in the air,
Lines one wishes were not crossed,
Of course, are no longer there.
The flow of days will travel,
The hours will never slow down,
The man whom built a castle,
Forgotten, is not around,
Built for men greater than he,
So his legend never lived,
But greatness, as like beauty,
In the beholder's eye, is.
Tread lightly down the pathway,
Leave nothing but your footsteps
And blaze the new trail, this day
Is your chance, lest your forget,
Walk upright, suppress the fear,
Not all change the tides of war,
Life was better with you here,
Is the best you can hope for.