Where The Swing Lingers

I write poetry to satisfy my oral fixation
my hope for another generation
my aproximate detenation of ready triggers
sanctioned to be the bringer downers
behind the mask I have bannered the final obliteration

at which I scoff and ask what for?
what of the toxic omissions missoned
from a darker place inside of me
a carbon fission heart and a set of lungs
even with the energy of cold fusion
spat on me and refused to start

so what of my practices
what of my spirituals my rituals
so what of my part
I was once asked
"so what is it that we do art for?"
so I will ask myself again
"why did you start why did you take any part
what is the purpose and why is your art?"

I was once told
"once we get into the swing of things
then it's time that we can start swinging things"
and I always wondered where it was that
we had to go to find where the swing lingers
and how once we got there the swing would
reconcieve us into a womb that pulled us
into a place that I don't remember
but I'm certain I had been there before
without ever having had noticed
'til now with strained eyes sore

and the profundity sometimes belittles me
in that when I awknowledge that I had been there before
I am akin to realize that I had never left
I had never left