my rasta I-man and the holy three

the morning was made with God's blessing. the rasta woke in his bed
with one old blanket. up on the hill he cooked food he found around the
fallen leaves, I woke up in the same jungle with gas pumps overpasses and gun shots
by street lamps around 35th and international. I held a stepping razor and a tooth brush
b/w my teeth; strut my legs, swift. I had placed the right hand on the handle of the toothbrush and proceeded with a forward/back motion, it really helped the enamel, and you could tell in the right sunlight but the hustle was on the back of many men and I could feel it in the way we squited our eyes...the traffic was backed up. the car was finally fixed. The time was 5:37pm and I could smell the fast food drive-throughs pile up I was eating no meat at the time and my gut was torn b/w health and death
I rather choose death with a whopper and med. fries and a Dr. pepper, but I suffered so...haven't been to chruch since 2005 I found my heart urning for a Little God to help my bank account but I knew they'd never understand the earth by locking up their check books in offering plates I met a few old pastors and they wore a honest smile
and talked human, but many of them just wanted to discuss damnation and do's and don'ts...I rather masterbate with jesus in the room, begging for my twisted artistic vision splattered on the floor with a pure heart...