Fathom Poems
Contents
I will write
visions until I die
I will write
visions until I die
Three kids stroll out of high school
Double double buck
shot of Scotch
Doggy paddle
through structures
I want to scream,
but I have no mouth.
Je suis
immergé dans les sentiments
Todos
los días
te
encuentro de Nuevo
Mi
profesora
me
enseñando como amor,
Ella
me esta maestriendo
a
ver arboles verdes
y
saber flores rojas
cantando
la luz del sol
pero
cuando las floras
dejan
de cantar,
la
cancion que cantaron tan bien
cuando
las floras rojas
es
hecho cantando
la
cancion hermosa
que
cantaron tan bien
guarda
el bulbo de la flor
hasta
el año que viene
proximo
año
Las nueve cifras
y los rascacielos cambiantes
el cambiantes cielos,
los cielos cambiantes
la
tierra los pilares.
Tú, mi ventura inagotable
Escribo
la epopeya
con
los mares pesados,
tu
hace
de
los antepasados,
cuando
dejamos
Ellos
no me van a detener.
Ellos
no van a pararme
Yo
conozco el secreto,
y
cuando vengo a regreso
con
sin remordimientos,
nos
tenemos vez en los laberintos
para
amor asi que hememos comienzo teniendo
divertidas
de Nuevo
con
las palabras, prometo
Y
volveré, entonces, lo es hecho
voy
a regreser, estoy promesa.
Recodarme,
así que
puede
ser hecho
las
recordadas, lo es hecho
de
Saint Louis un
enlumineur, entrepreneur,
Je suis un écrivain, un bloggeur,
du texte éternellement oublié, un
boxeur
à mesure que la passion
augmente avec émaciations,
Je ressens de énonciation,
des voix du passé, spirituel
instanciation, intermédiation,
la connaissance que vous êtes
irradiation,
du glaciation,
pas de pardon, pas de graciation,
Je vous donne idéation
je nous donne humiliation
vous donnez tous passion
ça a donné instanciation
Il
y a dans le ville et ses
immeublesce
froid qui raille
L’odeur
des briques
Les
pores qui suintent de murailles
suintent
de sous les "bassements"
Le
bruit des pieds, le battement
des
portes et leurs claquements
La
chaleur sous les bras,
l’effluve
infecte lors des tassements
les
places manquent
On
se bat pour l’espacement
Fleur
délicate,
un
sourire et on tchatte
On
rêve et on se mate
Ik
spuug een sterrenkundig obductie,
van
mijn radiobaken,
heelkundig
constructie
veroorzaken
destructie,
platmaken
zaken
oordeelkundig
obstructie
geschiedkundig
massaproductie
in
de vorm van
letterkundig,
taalkundig gevolgtrekking
de
opvoedkundig verloskundig
The Ligottian necropli
Demonic cineplexes,
trypophobic silhouette
Hollow minarets
occupied by enigmatic chasms
In the aphotic theater
I'm an anti-minimalistic minister
Administering the Glamor
Even in my drivel
I expel hexes
eyelids
permanently lifted
A window with
busted
blinds in
A home engulfed in circular ruins
A staggering tragedy, timeless
As puce corpses in an
English peat bog
Stalked by mangy dogs
And amphibious beasts all
With greenish teeth, fog
Fills the vacuum, but who can
fathom.
See the object,
thing in itself,
does it bleed,
get a nail.
Oh shit!,
It looks back,
the bastard’s dancing,
those are my arms,
my eyes,
but they look better on that thing,
this is hell
they seem to fit this one well.
I think I want to be him, the veil
The laws of the unconscious
are linguistic.
And the Cartesian cogito is a mirage
"I am where I do not think and
I think where I am not."
I mis-recognize myself as different
from myself in the mirror.
The object.
The subject is divided.
There’s a hole in me and I must fill
it.
Man is a metaphor
Still too fucking attached
to the fundamental fantasy
Stuck in a simple pedantic dream
That comes from pits,
social tragedies
Rose this invention,
this cultural branding
mind numbing pageantry
The soul is faux,
a whole host of scratch,
diddly,
nothing
The bullshit framework, les tout
est parte de le Primordial Dieu
Tout est dans le monsieur
Dit le grand enseigneur
Prendre en me suivre
There is this absence
That comes to represent
the strange
coincidental
concomitance
between the symptom
of the subject
and its relation
to the absence in others
Substance
reached
into
the lingual heart, unchecked
Prior
to meeting
the
linguistic part, it hunts fresh
Meat,
but its hunting grounds are strictly regulated,
so
substance must dawn the veneer,
visor,
visage
the mark, bedecked
in
a persona I am fundamentally a barred subject.
A
bundle for a heap of snakes with the illusion of choice.
Led
out of deep darkness by an authoritarian fusion,
the
voice.
Shaped,
modeled,
and
sculpted by the voice,
All
must conform to the law.
I
am fundamentally indeterminable.
The
content of the mask.
Drives
moving through the unconscious.
A
sea of unmanned submersibles
Thinking
where I am not,
where
the real churns in possibilities
being
where I am a construct who takes responsibility.
The letter always
returned to the signified
The mother,
that cruel un dignified
minister dementia
daily stole her letter
From beneath
the gaze of the king,
a rage festered
In the hearts
of the court guards
and timid eyes
Of all who
witnessed the cries,
incoherent
Utterances until three women devised
a mission, like
Charlie’s Angels,
ripping through the darkness,
straight through
The palace apertures,
the arched,
weak gate ways, to
Take this great queen
to a safe place, who
Are you?
She asked repeatedly,
until Dupin
Returned the letter,
now she could see
these beings
of ethereal beauty.
So, it’s true that
The letter returned
to its foundation
Sadly, this is not
true in all cases.
Shelves housing antiquarian, archaic
quartos,
compendiums with recently created
octavos,
folios and treatises contain the
story of his death.
The account
de sa mort
has the capacity
of iterability.
Take the phrase "I do".
As was declared since cities
Immerged from thought
ensnared in lexemic trees.
An utterance uttered
by people getting married.
Its real and true only
if people are starring
At each other in some matrimonial
ceremony
In all other contexts it’s a
parasite
on the actionably true “I do”.
So then there is only
One, all else feeds
off the original, bearing life
This is bullshit,
all meanings are there inside
The phrase,
the word,
the appellation
all uses of a phrase have
already occurred in the anterior
Every iteration is re-iteration.
"To speak
is to commit tautologies"
because all discourse is citation.
Iterations are the superior athletes
Give any context
and they will play
Fuck JL Austin and Searles
assertions, in this field
of statements everyone of my
iterations organized in signifying chains is an occurrence in the real.
I run miles, lift tons,
strong legs digging craters,
jumping boulders
Until my shoulder hurts,
I spit corrosive words
With amusive burns,
to listen is an act of masochism,
lyrics making Mascoch come herds of
submissive homunculus’s
Personas mask,
camouflage the biologique
A man
is not the thoughts or
feelings,
he is a symptom of them.
Man is a metaphor
When everything collapses
you have to go to the real.
You take the fantasy to
the real.
Replacing
the absence
of the other.
It is the process
that opens psychoanalysis
to the phenomenon,
the concept of madness.
In the storm when the
symbols have collapsed
you will see the
superman,
the knight of faith.
Charges far past the
analyst.
The symbolic is rejected
and an imaginary desire
passes
from the Imaginary
to the Real
as a delusional plenitude
or a totalizing whole.
Language does not hold
me.
Not him.
He is Abraham
when God said
kill the son.
He is the only man who
believes that fantasy is real without doubt.
The external world is
replaced
by the imaginary.
Because the symbolic is
foreclosured on in
madness,
Shut the fuck up talking
to me, jaw jabbering,
get off of me.
You are a pissy,
pathetic George Costanza
in a diner
complaining about the paper capacity of binders.
Uninsightful
small-talk industry plants
with
vegetated talking points
repeated rapidly
like Jake Tapper
systematically prattling
at three times the audio.
Annoying people,
thinking they
are clairvoyant people
with witty pithy phrases
like
keep your voice down.
And they say it
in a Mexican restaurant
with ear-piercing
blaring booming music.
Apparently
I’m louder than son, corrido,
banda, mariachi, and ranchera.
Shut the fuck up!
Comment êtes vous plus
bruyant qu'un restaurant mexicain,
avec musique plus fort
qu'un zone de construction?
Comment êtes vous plus
bruyant que mes écouteurs?
Comment que un humain
peut-il être si bruyant?
Plus de bruit!
Je viens ici pour me
concentrer et avoir de la bonne alimentation,
de la bonne nourriture.
Et n'entends pas aucun
fanfaron parler d'une table méchante,
maléfique.
Il souffle la bêtise
bullshit comme il mangeait de cul d'un buffle avec diarrhée.
J'ai pensé,
j'ai réfléchi une seconde
mais la seconde m'a semblé comme une éternité.
J'ai soulevé,
je me suis levé avec
toute mon énergie.
J'ai poussé mon corps
épais sur la table,
a travers la table bois
comme
j'essayais de pousser le
table bois dans le manteau de terre.
La seule chose qui peut
ressentir ma fureur,
ma chaleur colérique.
Chaque étape était une
promenade dans la boue.
La boue, slime medique
sur le putain,
la bullshit,
de la merde sur un putain
de,
fucking table hantee.
Je lui ai dit gentiment
que je pourrais.
"S'il vous plait,
pouvez-vous être plus calme, plus silencieux?
Vous faites plus de
bruit."
Undead
from Morgoth
Land
of the living dead
where
they Rob Zombie
spoke
the unsaid.
Unspeakable
names
in Norse
move
to old English dungeons.
After
one hit
wonders
wander in shadows.
My
brother was locked up
falsely
because of a gooses gander
at
these crows come together
for
a murder on Fox
as
I put my niece to sleep
I
feel the tension.
Outside
of a white Jeep
assassins
with deformed creeds
attempt
to slaughter my peeps.
Like
a bartender
I
used to not deal with children
So
I put her to sleep.
So
I could watch gunmen
rush
in fingers riding a
Winchester,
where my homie
Knows
me well.
We
sip Miller's beer.
His
daughters
pregnant.
She's
a warrior.
She
birthed
the
mandate of heaven.
Sweeping
fingers across
the
page.
Dabbling
lyrical gravel
on
the tabula rasa.
Inconceivable
as
Chaucer in pandemonium.
Disemboweling
the assassin's
deformed
creed.
Jackson
Pollack guts on
the
tabula rasa.
Minerva's
owl gets disassembled
after
it crashed in the street.
The spleen malicious,
rancor of malignity that he
spoke with,
he believed,
emanated from her eyes,
her pupils only recently
opened
stained eye lid steel doors.
She was haggard, spent,
stale.
Fatigued and irked,
with jaded drowsy,
done-in eyes.
He was one who designed
communities founded on forums patriotic to patriarchy; thus, he was not used to
looking into her eyes as an individual.
He
may have chained her soul but not her eyes.
It was not her intention to
be intimidating, standing stigmata stigmatized in his kitchen.
She rents his time,
he takes hers.
It seems as though
he takes pleasure
in taking
her time,
her happiness leaving
her aggravated as
she journeys through the
valley of stress.
Doxastic, dots man's sense
In ought patterns, Swats tracking
mock plans in lock boxes,
Left the black men godless
In catatonic paths of rockets
Zapping pockets of Resistance
To attacks from doctrines
Used to latch us down
Pile us in bryer patches,
of vile batches
Then light the match and burn us
Like Nazis burning classics
But we turned the ashes
Into swarthy artists un-redacting
Our past
Feeling peace of mind.
Like I'm still in bed,
sheathed the nine
Feeling sleepy sinking
into sheets where I find
crumbs of bread.
I used to eat in my
blanket and wonder
Deja vu,
the day was too hard
I made it through the
day like swimming
straight through a monsoon storm.
Feet was aching too,
so I made a drink. Took a swing
Keep a bottle in stock next to the bed
Ease my mind in requiescence.
All thoughts and requiems for dreams
characterize my essence
illustrated
in Norman Lewis paintings,
Every verse is a resin,
brewing, grating,
sticking to you,
hurting like driving
the wrong way
down a cursed
one way
street,
getting people moving like
Hymenoptera
I'm blessing the audience with a
coloratura
communion
like the pastor on first Sunday,
eating
fresher than subway.
Stanzas fatter than obese pigs
passing
like the pigskin on any given Sunday.
Meet me at any bar,
drinking like
drowning sperm whales
Teaching cats how to classically paint billiards
framed in amber outlines,
sipping ambrosial beer
like Ambrose Bierce
with apparitions of senoritas
haunting river banks,
giving ghost hunters
that come hither face
She makes me feel
just like music is the
soul of the poem,
rushing into zinnias'.
I feel you in the now,
The La bohème.
I feel you like Rodolfo
felt Mimì's death
mysterious as Udolpho,
nibbling on pizza from Ceci's, left
the galaxy behind,
for the cosmic.
Still hold it when
it's hot. Hit
the block with Coptic
texts from asteroids
bombed by spacecraft releasing
mineral factoids
in lectures on KELT-9b,
Relaxed in mind,
exemplifies
The simplified mental strides
Through fiction, like
a gibbon high
on diction. Or Mighty mice
on missions finding life
in brick-and-mortar prisons.
Relax my mind that defines
Professionalism,
no embezzling my melanin
it's quite telling,
like snitches,
how I accrue peru
like postal felons
stealing mail
Consume so much old crow
I got Prions, babesiosis Lion
expectorating Creutzfeldt-Jakobs
Loud as Hell's Angel's
In crowds surrounding
fell fruits
dangling.
Strange fruits.
If you ain't ready to end yo lie get a Cenobite from every
religion.
Get holy relics, knives, candles.
All the shit
you maggots embellish.
Surrender wont effect
my decision.
Planning hellish
forests of gored paradigms.
I demolish paradigms.
Smart as Edmund Husserl.
Dropping solar flares.
Quelling all isms
stemming from Aknaten.
Kept the psychologism.
Because
I’m the origin of the mathematical
Hot as lead in Aleppo.
Shook you with cinematic texts
I bled.
Now look who gets psycho.
Demonic Abbadon!
Verse richer than Abbasids.
Deep as the fucking
Marianna's trench.
Traumatizing reluctant fuckers.
Surgical verbal murder.
I need another exorcism.
Fuck it!
Let me finish my mission.
Giving lyrical tummy tuckings.
I put my soul on the line
like Nik Wallenda.
Appalling assaults sent me to Ptolemaic vectors.
Back like Bacuala
from my star trek.
So never challenge my facts.
Lest you want your paradigms on the line like Nik Wallenda.
If you ain't ready to end yo lie get a Cenobite from every
religion.
The lie is a condition of life.
Get holy relics,
knives,
candles.
All the shit you maggots embellish.
Surrender wont effect my decision.
Planning hellish
forests of pored paradigms.
Jake Sisko,
with the keypad,
made lists so
thick I had to resurrect
Roget for this
lexicographical deep tramp
through the thesaurus.
As I type epic utterances,
lexemes in
fragmented realist fabulist fashions,
I’ll still hit low
just because the Muse
feeding off my brain
like an unchained pit bull,
a gut-cutting, gut-punching
detained fist, closed
in the cell of the psyche.
I still rip wholes,
through limp prose
Like H. L. Mencken.
I’ll rip holes through Mencken like
Malik Wako
Chapu Ambar
with a razor-sharp Khanda.
Mopping blockheads.
Toppling these
rotting unwashed trolls
in the cell of the psyche.
A fist with teeth biting
Pleading and striking.
Expressing pain
like storm battered
seas gnawing
at the pillars of the earth
No one at arm's length
As I witness the crumbling
of sanctified walls
I convert the rubble into seraphic
metrical versification.
“If you raise crows,
they will tear your eyes
from your sockets.”
A vexing sight,
I’m thinking this
as I’m seated in an
empty classroom,
perplexed by eyes
exploding from skulls'
fleshy bottle rockets.
The explosion
is the pure realization
that I’ve poorly studied
the fossils locked in
Archival safes,
open dungeons
of digital manuscripts.
Connective nodes
housing human knowledge
My crows are good
teachers,
teaching humility
through ritual attack;
truth is
the pure revelation
that pure truth is
formal.
In formal attire,
truth exits the noir
limo,
It enters the
ceremony,
passing by those
in garish phony
clothes,
and concepts, who are
simple
Too simple!
Truth smacks the face
bullshit;
truth pops the pimple.
This is why you must
raise crows
Your old eyes
are used to shadows
grasping at collapsing
fires
and guessing figures,
Pseudo scientists dancing in Pires
Feeding off the words
of hacks and liars.
My crows
are black-winged
servants
of truth
Harsher than a forge,
the crows temper
concepts
By tearing out your old
eyes
and setting fire to your
egos
So the Sun’s beams can
stream into your sockets
And give you life,
the Forth Way,
awakening your
consciousness.
I
will write visions until I die.
A
will to write, as I teeter, I linger at this creaky desk.
I
teeter on the brink of the draconian mind
surrounded
by laconic people.
Slaves who would rather not think, but
gather to sing praises to Dagon
who rose from the sea to herald the coming
of chains
on my ankles prevent me from running
out of Baden’s
basement
composed of
various variations
of slayings.
Forced underground where gun thunder
sounds and depressed youths plunder my realm asunder.
Now
I’m forced to wonder.
I will write until I die.
A will to write was
instilled in me by the Assyrian.
The Levi kept me out of
meek minds.
I wrote the library at
Nineveh.
Stored it in my mental
cinema
plays scenes of criminal
dilemmas of raising children in a blood kings line
snorted
by prisons.
Bodies
contorted by decisions.
In
the mind, in the prism of the urban text, colors churn.
Bullets bubble,
and the young boil in
trouble.
A city written by
segregation.
The mind is a language
is my cable bridge
I
will write visions until I die.
A
will to write, as I teeter, I linger at this creaky desk.
I
teeter on the brink of the draconian mind
surrounded
by laconic people.
Slaves who would rather not think,
but gather to sing praises to Dagon
who rose from the sea to herald the
coming of chains
on my ankles prevent me from running
out of Baden’s
basement
composed of
various variations
of slayings.
Forced underground where gun thunder
sounds and depressed youths plunder my realm asunder.
Now
I’m forced to wonder.
Been
writing up textual military Juntas since Sundiata Kiata was fighting old
regimes.
I
came to be when Thoth wrote me in an epistle during the Umayyad caliphate
when
Marwan ibn Muhammad
fought
the Khazars
up
into the Volga.
But
like the Khazars
I
couldn't be subdued by speech.
As
writing, I rebel
against
the structuralist maelstrom
where
my daughters are fodder
and
my sons are used to plug
the
plot hole on Gilligan’s island.
I
am the rupturing coup,
the
virus,
the
Abu Backer to your
Persian
highness.
I
drop a name like spit in the faces of the victims of a botched FBI home invasion.
Muhammad
Ali
wasn't
the greatest.
Using
my claret ink
I've
dragged more beings through deserts than the number that made that monster
famous.
My
deserts are pages populated by my imagination.
I’m
ahistorical,
I'm
timeless
in
writing.
Long days.
Been Sirius since the
dog days.
Work, drink,
sleep,
think til I'm
delirious,
like I drunk a drink
with a mysterious ingredient.
It's the
pharmakon!
Lime stone concrete
forms the walls.
Amantiado boxing me in
like Paciau.
Claustrophobia
attacking me now.
Shoved in a
locker,
feel like an image of
a whipped enslaved brother
trapped in a locket.
It's the pharmakon.
A gift I was cursed
with.
I'm the
supplement,
supplanting my values
over this Earth.
I'm the king and the prince.
The black
determination,
sublimating the state
according to Hegel history ends with me,
you are moments.
And fuck Hegel,
I'm the
religious,
the two in one.
I am viscous
spitting greasy oceans
It's the pharmakon.
You spit
fire; I spit corium
oozing fissive materials like a used DeLorean
I brew verse
originating in a nuclear reaction
emitting decay heat,
like rotting ethereals,
like fission materials
made of numerous factions
of isotopes decaying
at different half-lives.
My persistence defines decay heat,
I am difference,
dark matter,
the metaphysicians black light
the central component,
the catalyst,
the only truth is that which I aggrandize
diluted molten materials,
modifies my Stoic configuration
Even my urine distributes highfaluting
critiques of Saussurean lectures,
I am the originary allure,
the limit of experience
distributing a potent concussive aphasia
My dermal apparatus is a crust hindering heat
loss,
When I speak
this thermo isolator can melt concrete
releasing aerosol particles
as I vomit lead byproducts.
The city got me trapped
in a somnambulism.
Gods buried children
alive.
That's why I had to have
schism
from a rigid idealism to
pragmatism.
Pragmatics of my drastic
dogmatism
transcends fanaticism.
I lost religion after I
witnessed
Paul Ryans privileged
privatize twin barrels
drive by Ms Daisy,
with Fitzgerald driving
drunk.
So I dove into
literature.
Got a literary
pictionary,
literally speaking
daggers.
Causing primitive
patriarchs to Shakespeares
Like a Zulu army
horrified
after watching
Macbeth actresses
massacred by a maglev
into platters,
lets fast track.
Turning my brand of urban
semiotics
into speech acts.
In September
The lepers entered
To represent turns
And ideas
That cry free of
Limitation
But that insemination of discrimination
Led to impatience
This emblazoned
Those poor days since
I used to fear death
Feeling like writing
inciting my being
to write, the light
sings of absence
bright scenes
are scenes of madness
I retreat to research
dreams of shadows
who speak arrows
that beseech the narrow
crevices where nerves
bleed the marrow
of nightmares
where I was beat by
fellow human beings
who didn’t know
that we fluid beings
are dreams that retreat
through narrow
crevices, we cling
to the barrow
exit is escape
The druid lied,
it was suicide of the stupid guy.
He wants sex with the inferno[1].
He wants it to nurture him,
birth him,
give him worth then
he'll burn her on pyres
of toxic male acid and racist idols
spewing libel on the eyes of
archbishop architects lying
about the crimes of
warriors devouring
the remnants of
the great decadent decaying
human species
My discourse is
destruction on Dresden scales.
Enlightening as flames beneath impaled Țepeș, victims.
I devour bread baked in arsenic.
I get my fiber from fiber glass.
That's how I spit bloody shit out my ass.
Turning the sternest religious fanatics
into delirious static.
Shocked the masses with superior magic.
Damaged gods with
Muhammad's power of fire.
Awaking sleeper agents
in the matrix with the rod of iron.
Tower over zion
then devour peaking gofers.
Defiant as lifeless Mayans
fighting trife men with Silenced nines.
No soul in this golem,
but there's a ghost in the shell.
My clan,
my dynasty,
my family tree,
is filled with fine folks.
My household,
kin,
kindred.
My line.
The lineage.
Cenobites of this great tradition, of wrecking
sinful trife men who lie then go try to upend my time is infinite
I'm rich in mental cubbyholes.
In hazel dens,
diggings.
My domicile is in my mind with the
revolution.
Words pollute.
Its synonym pollution.
Levels are immense.
So dense in my subzero kennel in the center
of the sun.
The street is a barrier
A sign of the defeat
Beware of the mines
Placed there, the heat
Is unbearable as
I stare at the neat
Fortresses, castles
Of the fairest of kings
Is what his title is
Listed in his liablest
Bibles which he gives
To our schools to eat
Because he bared food
From my people to starve out
Our overmen
Because we don’t admit
We quarter them
Water kid seeds
Who grow into rebel trees
No more rebel reeds
Crushed by his
Grinder
Into papyrus
We are wise
To your stone thinking
And your lying forgers
Your Simoninis
But he’s still after me, a pawn
A demon spawn
Trying to
Capture me or kill me
Is it my soul he wants?
To steal, bleak vistas await me
In the lake we
Must make each
Other into prey
Because there is no escape, kings
Have set up traps
For lesser beings that
They think don’t need and
Don’t want to see.
Marxist sociology
Starts with social
Inequalities
Within cities territory
Is unfairly varied
At the expense
Of the poor, these
Characteristics
Are very specific
To capitalistic
Influence
In regards to real estate
The result is struggle
In the appropriation
Of housing as well
As fewer
Goods for the consumer
The state contributes
To urban structuring
Guided by ideals
Controlling services
Merely puppetry
The municipal in the urban
Text is a puppet
To ruling class interests
I am the extraordinary man
Next to lord this very black
City, if he isn’t with she then he’s
Minced meat
Simply survival
In bleak recitals, needs chime
Through lean minds who see why
Criminal fists are individualist
Changing society with sinful hits
To moral tables from old times
Based on poor old fables,
sold minds
Can’t be brought back,
only shattered
Moldy splatters of quotes in attics
Up ladders of the psyche
Where the father is buried
I think their dreams
Can be designed by me
As I bind dying streets
By uniting breed
In an alliance of holy beings
While defying the police
The higher man killed two sisters
Let him die
Or establish a new truth with her
Power, my loud curse
Drowns out foul verse
Conviction to spit
Archaeologies like Jameson
Language games from men
Ain’t the same, some lived
The plot- two migrations
The clot of de jure segregation
Was stopped
De facto is where the facts stroll
Black kings sing,
Middle class exists as
Ripples past the nexus
Inner city centers of no pity
Sinners in a litany, souls slipping
The basket that holds your goals
Is thinning
Cats grinning, rats living
As Blacks burning out
Words reaped, a child is
Taken, 8 miles forsaken
Rubble tumbles
Buildings leveled
The west is in decline.
Third world paradigm shift.
The west is in decline.
Last session, winter time hit.
The west is in decline.
The Northside melts
melt down, war-torn black Celts
trapped pale guards march
across Hadrian's Wall as that melts.
Vespasian slaughters
my zealot alma mater.
Busch pierced my liver.
Lungs full of spirits.
So I ran to the doctor
can’t afford the healthcare exchange
so I run to Masada.
Gen X, Dockers.
Getting dressed for the blood wedding
but it my time yet it’s the wests Armageddon.
Abandoned big structures
next to big brick ovens
broiling black figures
feeding them to each other.
Coal cannibals consuming dark meat.
Get your steak knives and your napkins
because every day is a Donner party.
Palestine torn a Parthian
riding impalas lining up marked men.
Now there targets for their own marksmen
but past the darkness
I see the return of the urban mega fauna
drinking water from lakes in the wake
of melting western glaciers.
The melting western gods of failing values
of the pale face. Turned down Cherokee
I heard pre-depression melodies
Zombies dance
to the acoustics of the undead.
The lap falls off the lap dancer.
A head rolls past a dead baby left by Adam Lanza
Babies born talking dead.
Little talking heads
When that corpse spoke
I heard him speak of dead kings
above him dark green leaves
move like fleshy lost beings
through hedgy north streets.
He said, he being a severed head
when drama starts
you
won’t always see the impala parked.
He spoke of fleets of impalas
sacrificing the youth to order.
The hope ceased then the water
the municipal was hune
and not to mention ghosts
of old buildings,
haunting plastered walls,
below stained ceilings,
below blood red skies,
the poltergeist groaned for life,
as he had memories of metal,
ripping his head off.
Ripping the dead off.
Putting pressure on the poor
giving the wealthy a break.
Tax breaks for the wealthy
done with Machiavellian stealth. We
suffer cuts to WIC
social service circumcisions.
Driving crack slit roads. Cursing
because its fucking up my suspension.
Let’s purge the source of our coercion
thou hath brought fire.
A pyrotechnic editor coming to reverse
his revisions into another version.
Watch me turn the Hermeneutic circle
The west is in decline.
Third world paradigm shift.
The west is in decline.
Last session, winter time hit.
As trade deals go ill,
the third world rises.
Climbing western ladders
once used to molest siege and batter us.
Lathered in the wests
bukkake splatters.
Beaten with the military industrial penis
We are the demons
of the wests past.
No middle just one percent
and lower class.
Yes, us poverty painted kids.
I am Theodrin. It’s time
to defy the hounds.
So ride now.
Three kids stroll out of
high school
across red lines. Moods intense angry.
Ten kids stroll out of high school
to areas of leeches sucking funds through
community leaders
Unity is a simulation, it's not real.
Thirty teens stroll out
of high school
taking a break from the cycle
A thousand men went to work
under the whip of Jim Crow.
If one speaks up Jim has no
problem killing them folk.
So they hold it in,
folded up aggression,
put it in the pocket
of the unconscious.
Now they unleash it!
Now nothing will stop it!
Fuck a trash can.
I’ll truck bomb your CVS pharmacy
Making urban leeches
regret harming me
the fire alarm rings
as black rage raises it arms
it sings
negro menthol spirits smoked
after petrol dosed lynching’s.
Hope seeks a presence
through glacial racial
injustice.
Old faces with new facials
sent flagrant fractals to oppress us.
Cops multiply like fractals
in my icy north habitation
industry emits contamination.
This indecency fills kids lungs.
Thus the capitalist god erased them.
The clustered poor
Attract the same
Economic strain
They agglomerate
Poverty
Locked in space
Places indoctrinate
Toddlers, dreams
Of kings
Migrate
From the island
While the magician
Spins the cycle
And the right says
That’s purely
Their decision
The cycle
Repeats itself
At an individual level
The spiral
Of disinvestment
A cyclical hex, closed
attacks on
Community tethers, ropes
Sit too high to reach
Students can’t get those
Books they need to read
Through the fires
Of ritual life worlds
Sick and tired
Of race making sites for
Firms; the lack of skilled labor
Means cutting edge
Technology
Isn’t built in those chambers
And if they are
They don’t use regional labor
People cannot invest
In their future
Blood stains
Their ancestry
And their being has
Been formulated through
Racialization; a group’s
Cultural imperatives
Compel rational
Behavioral
Decisions; their intent
Is survival
The right’s too vain to see
That is why
We deviate from
The mainstream
That most naïve
Egoism
Fascist irrationalism
Instincts that carry over from
Life habits of the
Dim past
Seek refuge
In nationalism
The authoritarian
Attempts to enact
Pure barriers
Through intragroup contact
In America racism
Was used to create
A labor class
Separation of groups
By race
Puts us on a
Race-making track
Every day is
workout.
Lunging
ducking bullets,
running burn
outs.
Lift my head
out the dirty.
Mind in the
gutter.
Broke a
rubber.
Cum and eggs become Flubbers,
human
Clutter.
Angry
Unemployed hitting the mother,
but found a
new lover.
Bound to
drugs, drugged her!
Spilt
synthetic radioactive seeds on her landscape.
He boasts of
atrophied stolen rancid beings he yoked with damaging memories.
It’s simply a
male prerogative to subject women to the punishment of jail.
The logic is
Nonsensical.
I’m not a
rigid Hierarchy.
Decisions by
and large be forged by my many parts.
Me is an
accumulation.
For clarity
assume
me to be a
nation state,
which is
composed
of states of
states.
Always active
no intermission.
I have no
enemy
I don’t
respect in this assembly.
In the core
of my habits categorical matters are stashed.
Matched with
affordable
standards.
Hate is a
defect
of the
powerless in penury.
I am a
Hyperborean Highlander speaking consequentialist magic from my bully pulpit
of a cyber-meta-clorian
canvas.
I’m not a
rigid Hierarchy.
Decisions by
and large be forged by my many parts.
Me is an
accumulation.
For clarity
assume me
to be a
nation state,
which is
composed
of states of
states.
Always active
no intermission.
Turning the
sternest religious fanatics into delirious static.
Shocked the
masses with
superior
magic.
Damaged gods
with
Muhammad's
power of fire.
Awaking
sleeper agents in the matrix with the rod of iron.
Tower over
the State
then devour
peaking gofers.
Defiant as
lifeless Mayans fighting white men with
silenced
nines.
No soul in
this golem,
but there's a
ghost in the shell.
In this shell
is mans trans valuation is man’s salutation to the dammed values pity
amalgamation.
It’s a feast
of morals worth the least of kernels popped under the heat of the inferno of
the day.
I’m not a
rigid Hierarchy.
Decisions by
and large be forged by my many parts.
Me is an
accumulation.
For clarity
assume me to be a nation state,
which is
composed
of states of
states.
Always active
no intermission.
Realize now
that the unity
of self is a
decadent fiction.
But this
fiction may well fester.
This original
sin.
But what
makes the powerful
so powerful?
It’s the
priestly!
Privileging
those
deceasing in
poverty.
Telling them
their disgrace
is a balance.
“Yours is the
kingdom!”
This prevents
them from thinking the kingdom is on earth,
not in them.
They are
prevented from linking freedom to self-mastery.
Overflowing
power,
no plastering
passion
behind false
notions.
But gathering
all admonishing values that precede from weakness and abolishing them.
Calm night til I entered beneath the
veranda's twisted arch,
picture an eccentric park
filled with a bewildered audience,
many in resplendent garb
eyes fix on
semblances of souls expressed in
melodic intonations
instrumental ambiances dancing with
fingers moving so fluid
I can’t ever tell if they are
particle
or a wave.
I don’t have this capacity
The skill or alacrity,
My will is a
96 Toyota
Camry
car battery
I'm used up; thus as refuse
I reused that suppressive tool,
as unrest accrued
like young Chechen dudes
with used weapons removed
from authoritarian officers,
getting these state piglets off of
us.
Writing is my Lee-Enfield/Colt 45
administering
alphabetical
artillery rounds
threw oppressed
cognitive dissonant
buried minds.
Kill the zombies with
critiques of conceptual paradigms.
Deep as 30 galactic centers,
Politically speaking,
it’s Monday night,
Cities half sleep,
H2O breaches causing phone screens
to glow.
Regulars regularly regulating
ridiculous amounts of rail
on a patio,
a musician sings, so
I step outside to speak on
My take. Cause this random person
got to know.
Philosophical nobody,
like the rest of you
No one can rescue you
from my annoying/horrible
poetics is like being trapped
inside a collapsed vestibule
On a shitty vessel
sailing to
my nihilistic retinue
Of imaginary advisors,
where I'm a shining
incendiary magically crafted by
Agnes MacGyver.
Escape my low self-esteem
in guitar riffs
stoically sipping a
Mahatma Manhattan
at the bar drips
Of rain still off and on,
Seated in front of the coal-black
speakers
Adjacent to Pee-wee Herman's
spinctoral creeping
was my doctoral thesis
I chill with strangers,
working-class folk
employed by danger.
I used lawn ornaments as bail
I drink with airline pilots,
I sleep with politicians
and then extort them
That's why I'm not in jail
Explaining
the exorbitant question of method
Reverting my own interpretation
away from the REAL.
Back when I had the U-Boat,
Hugo Boss cologne,
got a loan refund,
bought
new clothes.
One sided relationships,
you owe
me love.
Nights nebulous,
vehicle operators are faceless.
Cops on impatient shit.
I'm too alone
to not meet up
with my friends
to be drunk
and eat stuff,
we too cool,
we go hard
dripping in finesse,
sipping
absinthe
hookah,
scotch.
Eating
some vegan dish,
smoking cigars,
tobacco-less cigarillos,
rolled with dope,
in the 96.
Sun roof open
because the windows broken.
We
simple kin folk.
Talking
about why we have no limits.
Feeling mellow, with my fellows,
sinning
by committing
sins
of commission.
Me and
stag are co-dependent.
In a
three-year commitment.
Committed
to justice,
a
warrior.
Black
lives matter,
punch
a Nazi, it’s a war
we
stuck in ecru homes,
gangland
violence.
People
writing,
they
John Hancock’s in lead
Autograph
your kid w
ith
semi-automatic.
Trade
laptops for studio time.
Told
the homeboy
I'm
coming through
with
the miller lite
after
the gym,
elliptical,
tread
mill.
Weight
train until my head feels light.
After
a hot shower I'm
smelling
louder than the Cush,
smelling
sexy like Plessy
ready
for that court date,
but it ain’t shit stressing me.
I wake up
swill some stag,
consume some crow
tipple toss tank tequila
Shots to the head Kennedy style
I proceeded to swill some stag,
consume some crow
tipple toss tank tequila
with a friend at a small bar.
The bartender was jovial a musician
fusing and mixing sound and voice
Like Caravaggio painting notes.
He claimed I was a narcissist
I asked him "is this what y’all talk about
when I'm not around?"
heartless shit.
Ran out depressed, up all night drinking.
Swilling liquor, take a picture.
What are you thinking?
Up all night drinking. Singing
with Michael Jackson into the speakers.
I was under the sea living the Miller Highlife.
Vibing with Sebastian, loving myself.
I got a fifth from the gas station
I tanked it titanic style made it
to another bar, side swiped a car
You can’t expect me to see in the dark
with my headlights off.
Crossing bridges,
not thinking about my regrets
Not thinking about my sins
Not thinking at all.
Because when I start drinking all thinking ends.
I'm so sick I consume Bud Light
and Fireball in the Ebola River.
Tipple toss tank Limousine Vodka
Shots to the head Cobain style.
Only get drunk to escape[2]
Introducing
Brand Nubian Nirvana
sipping, guzzing Stag.
Trying to drown out trauma.
Stationary as a vacant stare he's
been placed there by feet weary
from chasing nightmares.
I came here for convivial diverting
enjoyment
I'm trying to stop whining and stop
lying.
Too much to be proud of.
New young musicians singing.
Fuck the bulshit, this towns a
musical melting pot.
Individuals mixing, moving to new
music.
Young physicians selling pot.
Me and my cousins went to his crib
Bumping, blasting bombastic beautiful
sexist tunes.
Went back to their crib.
Making music with them
where music lives.
Music vivid as livid Christians
preaching
from pulpits on street corners.
They bought some weed and drove
from Ferguson to Berkeley.
The night was caliginous as
prosecutorial sentences.
Thinking about these police, hurting
free
beings on the border of being and not
being.
In their small white house
the beat was dropped,
like youthful fantasies of thick
models.
Dropping assets, like criminals
fleeing a trap house,
the beat was an auditory light house.
I came here for convivial diverting
enjoyment.
Employing this ecstasy,
this hash to repress me as I relax
chatting.
Thinking about the party at the
apartment I'm in.
I raid the fridge and stoke my fire
with the depressant, beer.
They had the reefer out,
I brought the liquor we were loud.
The halcyon days,
spent out free of malaise,
down the street
with friends drinking, straight
Whiskey,
smoking before you could think, just
dream of fates
Fantastical
where I wasn't in seething in hate
Switch to a night sky,
a city rich in night life
Luminous insects gliding
on night lights
Stars peaking from behind
the night sky.
Thinking of being
an impressively
impressionable vegetable
Playing outfield,
a place where
I wasn't taking hits
from bullying shits
Teaching life lessons,
treat me as a stepping stool
I took those life lessons
and learned to question, school
Gave me best tools to
understand this permanent painted on mask.
People been stressing me
out
I'm pressing cartridges
into magazines
Penning scripts
In the form of a Skeltonic list
editing it, rewriting it
But today is nice,
hyacinths sing verses of coloratura
Its scorching like dragons
from the earth's mantle
are cooking cobalt
in the center of sun.
Real niggas lying dead
Due to Darth paupers in paucity
and impicunitiousness
Busting jaws like Paciuo fists
As Noodles drinks whiskey
Talking about what it was like
Once upon a time in America
In Walnut Park,
don't get trapped in the dark
No more baggy clothes
As I blast J Cole
As I roam the areas
of the hearing impaired
The Hyundai is dirty
My lungs is dirty
its fitting.
I construct worlds of color in monochromatic script.
I beat the desktop keys
like Sherman
Marching on
somebodies music class.
Hulk smash
like Ta-Seti arrowheads
in northern Egyptian
and Assyrian skulls.
Diodorus Siculus referred
to me
as
Hyperion,
the watcher,
wisdom,
the physical incarnation
of the sun
burning in the earth like
an asteroid
on entry.
Every day is a power
trip.
I trip on power like
Terence McKenna on entheogens.
Bernardino de Sahagún
witnessed me
ritualistically
use teonanácatl
with Aztec doctors in
Central America.
Minds
torn by my cords
Ripping
through fists trying
to
injure me
Well!
I Usain Bolt beat you to it
Self-flagellation
on
Olympic tracks
Live
from North St. Louis
Faces
contorted by stress
Incongruent
truths hit
Like
piss streaming into shoes, this
Truth
that I expectorate division,
Like
segregation,
de
facto
Expressions
on profiles
represent
hesitation.
No
styles too complicated
For
the revenant
cooped
the
French Soviet upends feudal doodles, blue-blooded blueprints
are
washed away
in
the numerous nuclear hurricanes
I
urinated words in texts
unread
because I love the art,
I'm
infatuated with it.
I
lust after ancient books,
not
jewels,
Grey
Poupon
and
other bolder dash.
This
is why I'll never fully grasp
the
modern skeltonic scripture,
the
rapper's obsession
with
capitalism.
Past the open sterling doors in the House of
Ganesha
I thank my mother
for my poetic religiosity.
She taught me how to be
magnificent as meritorious
transcendent open sterling doors
in the
House of Ganapati,
no Catch-22,
stumbling blocks or vicissitudes.
Since back when
Little Bear was on Nick Jr[3].
In the basement,
hustler music,
soul,
funk reverberates.
Used to read slower
than Jeremy Irons
describing paint drying.
Now I articulate outstandingly premium
orations,
prime as the number seven.
My deadly sin is coming
harder than Mandingo
Timeless as the ubermensch,
superlative in verse
ever since,
pillows smelled like piss.
Swept leaves into the sewer.
Legos, fruit snacks.
German roaches,
humid summers.
Babies get beat
searching for their parents.
Terrorists roam the streets.
Bootleggers selling CDs.
Seated in the corner store,
owners,
with accents
speak of the one god.
Up the street,
around the corner,
heart rates fluctuate,
like the crime rate,
cardiac fire alarms.
Viewed videos of us as toddlers.
Got whoopings for talking back.
Remember being in the dark, pissing in the
golden rings
on the wall.
Pissing on the steps,
peeing on your brother,
letting him think it rained.
Until he looks up.
Killing baby chickens by accident.
Just trying to help them fly
to the welkin,
the upper heavens.
A man chokes his wife
in the street.
Watching Superman
then Batman
on the WB.
When shooting stops
walk around the block
and play football.
A kid tosses it,
you catch it.
Riding bikes and talking shit.
Beneath the cobalt blue sky
The ice cream truck ditty beats
the visual representation
of it to your sensory palate.
Ice cream that is frigid smooth,
gelid refreshing.
He moves,
you become a homebody.
James Cleveland
and
Shirley Caesar sing
as Mommas cooking
greens and cornbread.
Big brother introduces me
to Jay Z.
Now I want
dead presidents
to represent me.
Rap in phraseologies,
crazy dialects,
Got into dad’s Budweiser.
But he didn’t know,
so no apologies.
Smoking squares
with a cheap lighter.
Watching Andrew Black
on public access.
Head rush high off nicotine,
High as the Griffin falcon,
SR 71 Blackbird[4].
Lady's braiding hair while watching babies with
extensions playing.
Fuck the impatient police.
For real, kid
Fuck the Missouri
House of Representatives.
Thus concludes my erudition.
I'm a double double buckshot
of Scotch
No rocks!
Bubble bubble blood
out of a head wound.
Not enough lead.
The head wound screams of sanguine
rivers pouring into the cracks in logic
of stand your castle doctrine.
Arrogantly I critique my feces
while cringing
like a Scandinavian vassal taking
a drink from the wash bowl.
Then flossing with mucus…
Romantic as Sadak,
So famished that I just
Doggy paddle through
the waters of oblivion
Saddle frogger and Lassie
Then proceed to slaughter
Lines with an excess of synonyms
Romantic as Sadak, searching
For the best, tantric steps
Through syntactic structures
Over turning the phalo-centric
With outlandish lyrics
But just for a second
Then I fall back in step
Stepping on skulls
Too many steps ahead
To pay for school
I took loans from the graveyard
I accrue interest
in new forms of
thought
But I never paid the interest
So I guess I robbed
the dead
Incarcerated
in her Tartarus,
charred and naked.
Stripped
of my mark, stained with
feelings
in the sea off her dark embankment.
Feelings
of debt.
“Eternally
I owe you.
You’re
my navigator,
speaking
in compass.”
I
burned in her mantle.
A
love that pulled me from my cave,
where
flames whip shadow slaves
who
rattle chains until you,
on
a saddle, came
to
know me
and
show me truth.
“Eternally
I owe you.
You’re
my navigator,
I've
been searching you
Being with you
is like reclining in a lavender blue sofa
with
cushions softer than
Angora
rabbits
wrapped
in the cervalt fibers
of a
red deer
dwelling
in New Zealand.
From
that soft lavender sofa
I see
the Piazza della Repubblica.
Francesco
Pozzi’s austere statues
surrounded
by benches
of an
elegant alabaster marble.
From that soft lavender sofa
I see the grand Tuscan Beaches
with
people in swim wear,
radiant
sun dresses,
and
casual summer suits strolling across
the
checkered walkway outlined
by un-fluted
columns Doric
palisades
almost as smooth
as the
Angora cushion.
To the left a port sparsely populated
by small vessels over the Tyrrhenian Sea;
rising and ebbing
as the
Libeccio,
or the
Libyan wind,
dances
on that sea
of a
Bleu de France and Delft blue mix;
where
one can gaze just deep enough
in the rippling mass;
where
the prismatic crystals of gypsum
disappear
into that dark Delft blue die.
The
cliffs adorned in flowering bushes
rising over that sea surround
the
city as though the city is reclining a sofa
shaped valley, cozy.
Being with you is like roaming
through the Museo Civico.
After
being immersed
in the
ambiance of the Moresque room
where
elaborate patterns in gold,
velvet,
and
beige are giving life
by the brilliance
of the
ornate candelabra
suspended
from the ceiling,
I then
grow sad.
I
suffer a slight bout of melancholia
because
I remember that the glory of this room
pales
in comparison to your touch,
to your cadence,
to the
way you know just what to say
to
make me feel whole,
to the
way you prepare a meal.
And your meals,
Love!
Even
the Macchiaioli painters
like
Vincenzo Cabianca,
Silvestro
Lega
and
Adolfo Tommasi
couldn’t
match your skills
capturing
natural light,
shade,
and color in your masterful works
no matter how many times they discussed style,
art
and politics at
Florence’s
Caffè Michelangiolo.
I hope you day is going well.
I love
you.
As he looks at the
lake,
a ruby green pallet
reflecting emerald plates
on a great white
background.
He,
like the lake,
reflected the past.
He reflected on the
past.
Sitting up on the
roughhewn boulder
in a green hoodie and
dark blue jeans.
He possessed and
ill-favored appearance
to the whites nearest
location
or possibly just to
himself.
Projecting his
insecurities
on the world outside
himself.
He found peace
reflecting
on the reflective lake.
He was the lake.
He was the stone thrown in the lake
falling
unable to stop.
He didn't realize that like the stone,
his fall was not a fall
from grace,
but a movement towards grace.
Cutting through the water,
never stopping on a slick tilted crevice
for long,
but moving towards the center.
Moving straight towards that goal
he had been seeking for
years.
The rock is never stable
until it hits the floor,
but even then,
it still moves.
When
the heart stops.
Eat
fast food fast then fast.
Broke
people, broken by good choices.
Choice
meat lines several feet of the intestinal track.
Blonde
tracks make her look sexy.
I
met her running track.
We
talked about children loosing limbs on train tracks.
Train
children how to use the plot.
Brothers
locked up for possession.
Possessed
by the need of making ends meet.
Possessed
by thoughts of him cheating.
Possessed
by the hunger.
The
hunger for love until
the
heart stops.
I'm
trapped
I want to scream, but I have no mouth.
Caught in a crawl space. A small place.
Blood pressure rising.
Bodies hot as a dog day.
I'm trapped
I want to scream, but I have no mouth.
Because they have my mouth in their mouth.
Eating
my words, eating my face.
But my voice can still be heard.
It oscillates with the tribes of the unheard.
With
Zulu-Ostrogoth’s it ripples like the battered fists of inmates
battering
steel reinforced concrete.
I'm trapped
I want to scream, but I have no mouth.
They can't hear my voice because they are eating my words,
my
curses.
There's no passion here.
It just hurts, it just turns my stomach.
I'm trapped.
I
want to scream, but I have no mouth.
Let's
walk and talk about
how
you make the world better
by breathing life into corpses
that grow into glimmers of passion
harnessed
by dreamers
dreaming
of us walking and talking about
how
you make the world better.
My Seamstress
is so neat best freak, though she
can be testing
my knowledge
from life’s college
as I write Algonquin Knights
that died
when American gats tried
their tan hides
I read my being to her
on grass clouds pass, she’s
taken that loud scream
still awakens me
from sound sleep,
it was the shadow,
he took her that dragon
attacked me
I stabbed him in the heart
and I began to bleed,
I realized that this is the real
the dragon is me.
Can’t die until I shoot cupid.
Love is a tool of
the state.
Civil liberties buried
gotta get the shovel.
Fiscally the fields unleveled
So we gotta Rob the feds.
Corporate salaries leviathan.
Egalitarian extremists
got to bomb the pests, dead.
No!
Putin ain't lie.
ain't no such thing as a moderate rebel.
Gotta change this crazy
society, I'm willing to sacrifice piety.
The currency is trust fund babies.
Buying out the bar. Ladies
sipping Newport iced people
out of skull chalices. Gamble with
fleshy talismans, hit the mortuary mall.
Lost it all cause
I put they guts and mauled faces
on the green.
Follow all of them now they dolls. Came
with the club bludgeoned them
until they became wall paint.
Because we are already in a gulf state.
Wealthy religious right run All the State,
Welcome to my alcoholics
clans’ abode, box, building, bullpen.
Where the rate of hates crimes
decreases the property value.
Tooth fillings' get pulled since
cool kids ain’t cool. They are tools in
this chucky cheese ball pit, we all in.
We ballin' with kindred souls
throwing bows and stripping.
Clothes ripping. Toes
exposed.
Tip your bartender
and listen to this
darkness spit rivers
of pussy quivers.
In my tribes commorancy, looking bitter
at dorks with valley girl speech.
Bash skull fucked skulls
as we sally to more drinks
Drinking steak and mash potato Stag,
trash a trash can after I crashed into
a Play-Doh stack.
Hit a bowl inside a dumpster, stay live
Like a newborn baby,
my baby momma
tried to give me but I say like
girrrrrrrl this ain't mine.
I lost the pool game,
now I'm going to smoke a decade
away when I smoke the decades,
almost got AIDS
Fucking around sharing needles
with Charlie Sheen.
Chill out babe. We got
days
with this cheesecake.
I am the Cartesian, doubting your style.
This winter and every season.
I doubt this boot will kick your teeth in,
but let's see, shit.
Crush a neo Nazi wind pipe deep in
its esophageal track,
like a toilet brush cleaning
the hate with hate
of this criminal breed, bitch.
I doubt the cops will search for you sooooo
why are you still
breathing?
What the fuck you say?
I got live rounds with
tracers
looking like a Star Trek
phaser.
Laser released like I'm
Lupe
in underworld. I'm a Likin this
lyrical labor, theory meets praxis.
I'm hurricane Harvey
cuming all up in you like a flood plain
We rock the spot.
We got the pots
for cooking eggs, sausage
and bacon
I told my kids respect
this, stop draining
The grease from the pan,
drink it
Little stinkers,
you was almost aborted
we don’t respect you
wanna be Peter Singers.
I got more cash to waste,
bet
I got more kids in
laundry bins
than Genghis Khan got
across
the whole central Asian
step
We rock the spot,
we got the pots for
cooking,
What you think we making.
I told my kids respect
this,
stop taking food off my
plate then
Throwing that shit in my
face.
Tangent
I'm the greatest,
so great I made Muhammad Ali shake.
my pants will catch fire
in ether
Because I'm hotter than
ghost pepper infused
tater tots
I'm so prolific
you thought you was
witnessing
a trump mouth diarrhea
I spit millions,
the Missouri Lottery, son
But back to the story
MTV couldn't afford me
so I got a show on NBC
We rock the spot.
we got the pots
for cooking eggs, sausage
and bacon
I told you to respect
this, stop hating
I get drunk with alot of
college students
None of them is
graduating
and they know it, stupids
I gots two scripts
one for my
class-conscious people
and one for these police.
We rocked the spot
I've created
a new world order,
Because
Kennedy was assassinated by my reptilians,
you girl’s
ought to March with me,
I'm faded as
I spew more orphans out of the pearly gates.
Shit! I
forgot to take Percocet with your Christian daughters.
Reminiscing
on slaughters Of Indian Muslims.
The cavalry
was hitting them with mortars.
America's
kids are stupid,
No!
They just
miss my Flemish script being flaunted.
So, I'm back
to give the kids something to hope for,
some dope for
probing your emotional areas,
and your car
stereo.
I make
potions from Bob Dole’s erections,
have been
debunked.
I'm dark as,
Putin’s
dealings with American Elections.
which is
Grimy as post colonialisms drying tongue
licking
Putin's butt
like a stupid
slut.
His groupies
are child prostitutes
he dips in his man meat Au Jus sauce.
Now,
what some
people are saying,
is that,
fascist fashion sense is ungodly.
Now,
what some
people are saying is that,
Alex Jones
forgot his hormones.
So, fat and
alone,
the wars gone
his way
and still
he's bored so
I guess lying
like Ted,
that callous chump
is the only
way
he can keep
his phallus up,
that diabetic
Dallas Buyers Club
In the
likeness of a buttery Missouri politician
who is the
butt of a Frier’s Club. Roast,
roasted
roasty toasty.
He's violent,
because his
he doesn't like me.
His
supporters are hate-hoarders
who let
fascism cream pie their anal orifices.
Told Karl
rove to kill himself.
He looks like
normal Rockwell
hocked a
Loogy on a pigeon pooping
Rigid shits
on Ted Cruz Groupies.
Camera
flickers,
As I drop
bombs,
I rap like a
perforated colon
I rap like
Dick Durban's dick going Bowling.
Pass a kidney stone like a bong.
Pissing
urinal cakes at
the president
in a gimp suit wearing a thong.
Getting trife
as a dog
Licking
natural light from
the dumpster
outside Carrie's prom.
Let's get
cold and lumpy as Ben and Jerry's,
Fuck Jerry!
That’s why I
replaced Tom
with Carries
Mom when I rewrote the sitcom,
Clone cops
multiply like fractals,
So I island
hop to the Virgin Islands on a pterodactyl.
I landed on a
syndicated film set,
happy to be
alive,
when I came
on Survivor.
I spit in the
eye of the tiger.
I exhale the
gospel of Matthew.
Speaking in
100 mile per hour winds.
Fuck
tradition,
I'll rip out
its mouth and battle it with its own dentures.
Shaking my
rattle at cowards.
I'll take
your presence at Christmas.
I DRINK YOUR
MILKSHAKE!
Brings all
the ladies to the yard,
That's why I
got fences made of babies,
hit the bar.
Hurt my hand
which is brown
as dirty sand
that snows down
the hour glass
in my eye,
it's burning.
Get me a
crack rock and a fifth
and I attack
pad locks and tricks,
I got gats,
platinum
clocks on my wrists.
I pivot
matchlocks from the hip,
loaded with
rocks and strips of hemlock and shit,
when I stop
and frisk.
I'll hit you
with a Goldman Ginsu,
shocking you
neolibs until you dark as Mase Windoo.
I'm a
straight fix you,
I'm Bob
Barker cutting off dicks dude.
I'm a spay
and neuter,
these
traditionalist hicks.
Truth is when
you fools’ realize
I'm gruesome
as Billy Bob Thornton
dressed as a
Arkansas grim reaper
in a Willy
Horton mask,
wilding a
sling blade
I stole from
Ed Gein’s basement.
The space
where he keeps his meat cakes,
that look
like clean faced conservatives in a very obscene place.
Fuck yourself
with a lead hatchet.
Made at
standing rock with Flint water
on John
Lennon's mattress. Nigga,
I'm splitting
the logocentric,
making myself
the center.
Spitting the
grossest lyrics,
Like I'm
shitting orally.
I put the
dick in Missouri,
fucking
America like a chick
with a strap
on trying to spread rabies.
Transition of
power,
This is the
Cuck kidnapping
careless
callous alt-right cowards.
Tying them up
in Malaysia towers.
Beating them
with bamboo fists.
Yo, I'm
talking to the Alt right,
prolife, halt
like I'm gone strike,
then turn the
Klan to alphabet soup.
This is my
gift to GOP,
on some Pac
Shit.
You animal
crackers running in snack packs,
pachyderms of
ants believing in magic,
fucking
taciturn corporate masters,
who
masturbate to images of the Simpsons Mr. Burns.
I guess I'm too much, fuck you fucks.
I left her because I'm too much.
She left you because you fucked up.
Speak
up, speak up, speak up
You don't need to rhyme.
You perform good enough.
You don't need these demons
causing me to do a David Carradine.
Choking myself with synonyms.
Leaving me auto erotically
asphyxiated. A lyrical bukkake
of sin. I give no apologies
just warnings.
I tightened my belt and I came
in this open Mic.
I'm dope as a coke razor.
I see everything as a joke.
I'm Heath Ledgers Joker,
but better,
because I write like
Heath Ledgers Jokers ledger.
If it were sentient.
I speak in kitchen
cleavers,
with all the charisma of a cult leader.
Reciting death cries
of tortured Selk'nam
father's
watching their children spilling internal organs
because they couldn't concentrate
in the concentration
camp.
I live on one end of the spectrum
Spitting Ron Swanson mustaches
with a lackadaisical
passion.
I’m Dr. Facilier
the way I magical negro
these sentences
out of my circus tent
top hat
like rabbits.
Stunting is bad
habit.
It ain't tricking if you really got madlives[5].
Your simplistic arithmetic aromas
reek of somatic disorders.
My bachelor's degree
in Jungian armchair psychiatry
qualifies me
to diagnose you
with various pathologies.
Certain paths
I don't walk
because they are
occupied by
pathetic pathogens
like you.
Cross my path
and witness me strike you down
like Raijin you
Mongols.
Great Zeus!
The zeitgeist just struck you.
I'm done with therapists,
I use computer engineers
to repair my
software.
The mind is a formal mapping
of the brain.
My thoughts are the formal form
of vectors arranged in floral trappings,
inviting ancient,
romantic
, enlightenment
and contemporary concepts
to be disemboweled.
My wiring is colorful as
Baptist choirs singing
of synonyms
arguing like
Vidal with Buckley,
because my formal structures
are fucking critical of
everything.
I'm always tipsy,
sweet like coleslaw until
I start tripping.
Fuck tipping!
The waiter asked me for
the check
I said stop acting
flippant.
I took his check because
I'd rather pay
Misdemeanor fine, like
Cassey Anthony.
She got the kids in the
divorce.
She left me because of
fucking felony.
Felony had more to offer.
Still a prison,
but a prison with a
corner office.
I'm just glad
I got teach my son
semantics how to understand
that when proposition
speaks
she means whatever the
fuck she says.
I’m like a condiment, how
I relish the times in her buns.
After a modest proposal
I swiftly got in a
position
where proposition
could back up my every
decision.
This is how I'm living.
I speak in kitchen
cleavers,
with all the charisma
of a cult leader.
Reciting death cries
of tortured Selk'nam
father's
watching their children
spilling internal
organs
because they couldn't
concentrate
in
the
concentration camp.
I live on one end of
the spectrum
Spitting Ron Swanson
mustaches with a lackadaisical passion.
I'm Dr. Facilier;
the way I magical negro these sentences
out of my circus
tent top hat
like rabbits.
Stunting is a bad
habit.
It ain't tricking
if you really got Mad
Libs[6].
Here's where I have
planted my garden
whose golden fruits are
products of
noumenal experiences in
the fifth
dimension a damsel with
dementia
weeps parabolas bleeding
from
Polonius, stabbed with
polonium
Spears.
Apollo must be balanced!
This is why I left the
Matrix
with Morpheus.
The Dionysian
machine rivers wake me up
from hypnosis.
Trees are pikes impaling
the earth draining her,
like leeches on a lake of
blood.
Clouds are gray canvases
I painted with my eyes.
I painted the green,
but it's winter
The damsel with dementia
followed me.
Now I feel my two-ness.
Split like a pizza.
Dinner for Apollo
and the Dionysian.
Fuck that
don’t bring those drinks
in my bar
Fuck that,
you bet not be fucking
smoken
in my car
Fuck that,
don’t come at me
like you know me
fuck that,
mother fucker
stop acting like
you don’t know me.
We have discovered
the way to happiness;
Made it through the labyrinth,
slew the fascists,
batshit pigs,
rancid dicks
with active locutions
Attacking drove
stupid ratchet men
who are content,
because
I'm not content with the tolerance
and largeur of the heart
that “forgives” everything
because it
“understands” everything.
This is a sirocco to us
Foreign American made
Cars broke down
in the front of the house.
My dudes Coked out
talking about how
We living off pizza
and coffee grounds.
But tonight beneath
the nox sky
I'll see you after work
at the bar
Surrounded
by people getting higher
than the Petronus towers.
I’ll pick you up,
but don’t light that shit in my car.
At the copse styled bar
Lady’s telling creeps to leave them alone.
The cowards talk shit
like they have a
fetish for eating feces.
Drinking shit,
he has no business drinking
Next to the fire,
trying to accost and threaten.
Well my knifes Napoleonic
with no regrets.
Through his ass in the fire.
Human pyres
of pyrotechnic magic.
Shots of the 100 proof
and a diet of matches
cause me to spit fire.
Don’t bring that shit to
my bar
We have discovered
the way to happiness;
Rose to every occasion
We have discovered
the way to happiness;
Years in the labyrinth.
Who else has found it
The man of today?—
We have discovered
the way to the storm;
I'm the storm
I come into your
scattered brains
A loose grouping of buck shot further
splattering thoughts,
shattering veins
Like plastic glasses frames.
I'm the bestial, feasting on
soo much Pizza I shit Imos
I Trump you fucks,
slash your crouch
My punch lines
are whip cracks,
the fuck
Out my face,
trying to be my apprentice
Like Tommy
you ain't never had a job
Yesterday
I went a town hall meeting
I gave a speech saying
it will be a better day
when I tether leather face
To my testicles
so I can cum chain saws
Saw you the other day
You told me
that you had taken
more copper nickel than an antique dealer.
Doctors couldn't remove
all the bullets
After the third shot
you didn't feel it.
I don't care
how much nickel or paper
You got
because
you ain't hotter
than a coffee maker
Pissing espresso
in Satan's anus,
If you like Korean vituals
Then you gonna
like my team a lot
because we is Seoul
Yeah! We got Seoul
Won it in a spades game
To a background
of shattered things
Black lives splatter in scenes
Darker than thieves in the night
chattering
But, I'm loud,
bombastic
As a Aryanana Grande concert
Get it "bomb", bursts
As I chew starbursts,
writing dark verse
making art curse
Fuck Paulo Chelio
I'm the real alchemist
Bombast von hoiheim, bitch
Hit up a local hotel,
steal some towels
and then use
them to wipe me down
then transmute
fentanyl through a needle
The only reason
I don’t look
like Smeedle
is because
I’m pure adrenaline
Being pumped
into a rhinoceros’ balls
Where we have discovered the way to happiness;
I'm not content
Fuck that!
C'était une bonne fois.
Un bon temps dans la ville.
Le temps était tempéré comme l’aimant humeur des personnes
qui avaient été marchant, marchaient dans le trottoir.
De nombreux de beaux visages.
J'avais pensé aussi charnu que le tendons tiennent ces beaux
visages.
Pensée du chair, pensées d'une substance molle du corps
humain.
Le charnu tissu dernière mon visage.
Mon visage c'est un masque
que j'ai agrafé à mon charnu tissu.
Les agrafes étaient les rouillé mensonges qui sont tombants
de mon charnu visage.
Les agrafes sont
et ont été tombant de tous les visages.
Ils tombaient pour plusieurs années.
Bientôt je verrai ton vrai visage.
J'ai su, J'ai été savoir comment écrire
dans langues des étoiles.
Ils me parlaient.
Ils me parlaient
jusqu'aux fruits violet mûri.
Mûrir fruit des nombreux dès colours.
J'ai pensé que
j'ai cru que les fruits me parlaient.
Ils font, je voulais dire,
ce qu'ils ont fait.
Lorsque, tandis que
je marchais à travers le fruit mûri forêts.
Lorsqu'ils sont devenus mûrs,
ils ont demandé à être pris.
Dans le sous-sol sombre il y avait de nombreux gens.
Ils parlaient les mots du ombres.
Ombres silencieux.
Ombres de fort.
Ils m'disent a agir avec célérité.
Vous devez penser avec célérité.
Vous devrez sentir
comme un océan de folie.
Une mer d'aliénation mentale.
Un mer ça coule plus vite comme le voiture de course du
Formule Un ensuite arrêter comme le trafic d'heure de pointe.
Les ombres hommes m'ont dit sur essence.
Il m'disaient a mettre de l'essence sur feu.
Mais, les ombres m'ont dit a pas mettre l'essence sur mon
feu.
Ils utilisent raison tandis que maintenir
contradiction.
Ils aiment l'hypocrisie.
Ils n'ont pas de visage.
Plus de gens n'avaient pas de visages.
Sans visage!
Tout autour de moi il y avait
des bâtiments brun.
Bâtiments faire des briques brun.
Dans la rue noire était
des corps de gens avec pas visage.
J'avais bousculé la fenêtre de ma maison
qui donne sur la rue noire.
J'essayais d'obtenir leur attention.
Je venais de manger
et j'étais plus plein de nourriture à bouger.
Je voulais un visage nouveau.
Je me suis fatiguée
de ce miroir qui se moque de moi.
Il s'agit moin.
Je ne pensais pas que
“il s'agit moin" signifier.
Je ne comprends pas les mots.
Faites-vous?
Fois bouge lentement.
Je suis piégé dans le temps.
Mon bureau m'appelle au travail.
La semaine dernière,
il y avait beaucoup de fumée dans l'air.
Le fumée remplissait l'atmosphère.
Le fumée a fait l'atmosphère le colour de bleu gris
terne.
C'était le colour de tousser.
Les personnes qui sentent l'odeur de bleu gris terne dovient
tousser.
Amour, adorer, passionner.
Il y avaient plus choses j'avais dû a tu,
mais j'ai été effrayé de ce que tu aurais dit.
Je te rappellais comment tu tenais moi, t’en faisais,
ma vie comme tu as tenu le tranche d'orange.
Tu n'as serré pas ma vie.
Tu etait doux.
Ton capacité pour douceur me hante.
J'ai besoin de retourner,
je dois revenir à ma voiture argentée pour recouper,
récupérer, mon livre.
Dehors, dans une ambiance agréable,
dans un environnement convivial,
je marchais au mon bureau de bois,
qui fait face vers, a la fenêtre,
vitrine ornée d'affiches,
décorée d'affiches, en les signes.
La brise fraîche se déplace,
court sur ma peau
comme une couverture douce.
Je suis immergé dans les sentiments.
Sensations de visions d'herbes vert agité,
déplace, émeut, par le vent frais.
L'odeur de l'air remplit mes poumons.
J'expire la nourriture végétale,
aliment vegetaux,
nourriture de les végétales.
J'entend l'eau au loin.
L'eau scintillait comme verre.
J'étais resté tranquille.
Je pouvais voir les ombres marcher à travers le verre
étincelant, brillant, scintillant de l'eau.
Les ombres marchaient à travers le sale vert qui poussait,
qui était croissance,
sur les pierres qui constituaient l'ancienne fondation de
rivière verte et de la ville antique.
C'est une sensation étrange de voir se transformer le monde
en ombres. Je vois les gratte-ciel,
les entrepôts et les ruines en brique rouge d'une fenêtre
circulaire.
Le bâtiment, le bar, navigue au fond d'un tourbillon.
Pantalones negroes, un traje azul,
zapatos marrones, espero, hace la tul.
La mezcla de hilos,
historias de algodón.
Tejido delgado
en una forma malla, cuál rojo
me veía, quizás los ríos sangres, desalojo
de sur sudoroso por los piojos
que comprometido asesinatos
Vieron por ojos enojos
lleno de emociono
adorno, llevan en vestidos polvo.
Recuerden, hacen recordar
que lo hicieron?
Tuvieron la aire
irrespirable.
Habían hecho el aire
irrespirable.
A través de la ventana yo
vi, he visto la atmósfera de gris mate.
Yo vi las cifras de esos
perdidos en un océano de opciones.
No quisieron pensar
acerca de fumar.
No habian querido pensar
sobre ellos mortalidad.
Asi, piensan sobre cuáles
zapatos van con cuales camisetas?
Cual hombre ha mas
distracciones?
Creyeron que estos cosas
irán a salvarlos del desastre.
Pero, todo es una
fachada.
Yo duermaba en una
habitación donde había una imagen de tío.
La imagen era sobre un
tocador antiguo.
El tocador antiguo era
hizo de madera vetusto.
Había escrito en la
madera.
Era un escrito
arcaico.
No pude leerlo.
No pude leerlo ya
no.
Y la imagen se ha estado
moviendo.
Cada día la imagen está
más lejos.
Cada día, yo lo vi mover
más lejos.
Mi habitación era
diminuta.
Amplio en esta
pequeñez.
Yo hubiera intentado
levantar lo, pero, estaba asustado que él imagen
iba a moverse.
Hubiera tenido intentado
levantar lo,
pero se iba a mover
cuando estaba cerca.
Se había movido cuando
yo estaba sentado en qué
habitación.
Espero.
Había esperado a
levantarme
cuando me lo
permite.
Pero, siempre lo estaba
moviendo.
Ella estuvo
esperando.
Ella fue esperar para el
hombre a dejar.
El no iba dejar.
El sentía que su podría
quedar
como largo como su
quiso.
Arriba estaban las nubes
rojas.
Un campo de nubes
rojas.
Nubes rojos como el
rabió,
él estaba enojado.
Lleno de enojo con el.
Como una nube llena de
agua.
Como el aire lleno de
humedad.
Calor como humedad de
aire
durante verano en St.
Louis.
Él está un árbol
orgulloso con numerosas ramas de pocos raíces.
El viento poderoso que
han estado moviendo las nubes rojas empuja
el árbol orgulloso.
Ahora el árbol está jadeando
para vivir.
Había sonámbulos.
Estuvieron caminando
abajo el pasillo, pusieron vestidos blancos,
hasta la voz vino a
través de la pared.
La voz ha agitado mis
orejas como un terremoto en mi cabeza.
Fue una experiencia
como un sueño
horrible.
Estaba gritando por mi
vida.
Despierto en sueño.
He despertado a otro
sueño.
Alrededor estaba
oscuro.
Fue oscuro hasta que
los sonámbulos
despertaron.
Hace rato cuando tu
ansias estuvo tan fuerte
Hasta tu ansias se ha convertido
en muerte.
llegas y olvidas. Has
llegado y has olvidado
Sobre como tu yo metes mi
corazón, mi musa en el fuego. El daño.
A veces estoy cansa de mi
aliento pero
Todavía doy agradecer.
Siento como madera
tantos termitas rotura en
mi espíritu,
mi mente, claro
Veramos. Yo te vi más
claro.
A través de bosque, había
eran cero
cosas en mi camino.
Pensaba que era por que
tu vino.
Porque me podrías ver a
través de los árboles de sus memorias.
Este hombre vino del
hermoso país de Jamaica.
Era un personaje más
grandioso.
Era un negro.
Creía en una filosofía
separatista.
Creía en esta filosofía
porque la opresión de sus pueblos.
Linchamiento, violacion,
asesinatos.
Un mar de sangre.
Como escapar a un mar de
linchamiento, violacion y asesinatos? Construyes una barco grande.
Navega a nuevos países.
Él navegó el mar de
sangre.
Fue condecorado, adorado,
con uniforme de general.
Rojo de sangre de
guerras,
Verde de ricos naturales,
Negro de piel de los
pueblos.
Su corazón estaba lleno
de amor.
Sus ojos podría ver el
futuro!
[1]
Libera te ex inferis
[2] I am such an alcoholic that when Stag
does it's taxes it lists me as a dependent.
[3] when Normal Lear was ruling
the television
screen.
George
Jefferson was lean
and meaner than
Danny Glover in Switchback.
Archer Bunker
was getting jibes in on dingbats.
[4] Flying higher than tribes of F-22s.
Expansive as
Amazonian
forests
deforested into a desert.
Then back to a
reservoir
of emerald
cellulose feathers, beyond better.
Rocking shoes
expensive as
the Joint
Strike Fighter
or things
anointed by the first cenobites.
[5] Aristotelian status.
Embarrassed by my Orcs
because I exposed your Osgilliath..
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