Les Rimes
Contents
Doggy paddle through structures
My lungs I empty like a chimney
Three kids stroll out of high school
Double double buck shot of Scotch
Hot enough to melt iron crosses
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
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.
My Seamstress
is so neat, my bestie, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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
Everyday 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, its simply
A male prerogative
To subject women to the punishment
Of jail, the logic is
Nonsensical,
I
awoke in a daze
after
I fell into a pit
of
hellish cruel thoughts
that
relish brute sins.
In
the heart of the beast
arteries
are torn to feed
the
Lords of the streets.
Those
vampires can't tire
shot
multiple times
even
got holes in the sign.
Signs
of the undead
liter
the urban text
as
sentence clauses.
A
witness pauses
in
the mists of a statement.
You
don't want to be another
incomplete
clause
with
blood painted
on
the patternized pavement
is a
mold for crafting progeny
copies
brown
and
hard as mahogany.
They
stalk the halls, then feast
on
the suffering of other beings
until
there's nothing left.
As I
shiver in the corner with visions of sudden death.
As I
tell of seeds,
who
dwell in me.
My
lungs I empty like a chimney.
But
nimbly with grizzly hippies in
homemade
flimsy clothes.
They
all came to hear me bring
the
instrumentality.
Rivers
of galaxies converge
into
a gentler style of being.
As
we enter the grounds of freaks.
United
in a balanced globe.
Foretold
in the Dead Sea Scrolls.
My
lungs I empty like a chimney,
Clear
up!
You’re
too near to the steer gearing up with Suspiria
fears
in
the interior of your cranial area
mirrors
the effects of diphtheria on your rear
got
you tearing up.
Stuck
in stool with
ghoulish
thoughts
about
these clueless frogs who do us wrong.
My
lungs I empty like a chimney.
Clear
up!
You’re
too near to the steer.
Melodic
since the salad days.
Gearing
up
As I
tell of seeds,
who
dwell in me.
Shomer
of urban decline,
like
a Watchman.
Molding
holy grails.
The
only souls
who
broke the mold.
But
veiled in Peace Makers.
Shotshells
that held
the
savior's nails.
This
breed will touch and shatter minds to tatters, like Elfen Lied.
I'll
hurt you using lessons
I
learned in virtue ethics.
Rhapsodic[1], melodic since the salad
days.
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 its arms; it sings
negro
menthol spirits smoked after petrol-dosed lynchings.
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.
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[2].
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…
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.
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.
Hot
enough to melt iron crosses.
Ain't
no crossing this Jordan
A
burning wreck
stabbing
English sentences
Endless
Mandatory
minimum
sentences
I
subject you nouns too
categorical
battle verse
Like
Garvey flicking
off
the state
from
inside an abandoned church,
Until
my ever-rising volume
shakes
the earth
turning
that church
into
a flying Hurst
I'm
the diachronic nightmare
living
in JoJo's closet
That's
why I need
accountants
to bookkeep
my
experiences of teaching
Peire
Monard how even Meek
Mills
can produce beef
for
the Masses of Catholics
No
fish this Friday,
It
was swallowed
by
the aboriginal Serpent stylish like Fabulous
without
the wife beating,
As
time retreats
Everyday
is my day
So
I'm a do it my way
on
David Lynch's highway
I'll
erase your head
You
nouns are my tablet, tabula rasas
Flies trample her skin
as she looks at the phlegm
heaped out by her lungs.
She is far from the food
desert
where black camels carry WIC
to toddlers in old brick
stones.
"Where is the
bus?"
The camel wonders
as she carries loads
that could strain a gym rat.
Another child is beaten in a
basement, learning to lie,
to hide tears as she cries
inside.
There within that house
She learns the lessons
of her grandfather.
He teaches her of the
harshness
of the snow-white world.
His hits must be harsh as
snow in a harvest, or she would be eaten in the avalanche of hot white hate.
But little beknownst to him,
he teaches her how to lie, how to hide tears as she cries inside.
Everybody knows that you need to be
tougher with these dudes.
You need to be tougher!
Yes!
You need to be tougher!
Everybody knows that you need to be
tougher with these dudes.
They only understand the back of a
hand.
"They will respect you, simple
as that!"
On the coal-black funereal
playground, during a cloudy day.
The clouds break, and the light
shoots down like slatey grey snakes
tossed from the cobalt heavens
like druids out of Celtic Stonehenge
relics.
My enemy with a sleek praline frame
is laughing and strolling toward me, saying something incoherent.
Raising his arms, flailing them like
the Cochlospermum angolense tree
that is used to make
Borotutu.
Borotutu
is used to treat malaria.
Which is good, because I have a
fever.
I yelled at my enemy at a fever
pitch.
I struck him with my fist.
With my fist, I wrote letters to the
world.
The letters consisted of one
sentence,
"You
will respect me!"
Everybody knows that you need to be
tougher with these dudes!
My father fed me these perennial
words
that tasted like the mandrake root.
These herbaceous words caused me to
asphyxiate
as I hallucinated the oviform leaves
arranged in braids.
I saw lustrous jade leaves,
Jasminumesque flowers with tubes
, and adamantine-shelled fleshy
fruits.
Next to me were two pallid men and
three others of basalt.
All were armed with long, scruffy
rifles.
They were gripping their dirty gun
stalks
like some unseen force
would rip those substitutes for male
virility
out of their hands
taking those weapons into the sky.
The sky was cloudy, pasty, a gun
smoke gray.
When the clouds broke, we noticed
two women,
with sleek praline frames,
laughing and strolling toward us on
that terra cotta road
created by feet subjugated by the
false sovereign.
The pallid men, in pallid uniforms,
glared at the women.
The women freeze
as though they had seen ghosts.
One pallid man's smile sent the
feeling of waking up
in a blazing rainforest
surrounded by Brown Recluses.
Causing the women to freak out.
Because they had seen ghosts.
Everybody knows that you need to be
tougher with these dudes!
He asked a question.
Both women appeared awestruck.
They raised their arms, flailing them
like
the Cochlospermum angolense tree
that is used to make
Borotutu.
Borotutu
is used to treat malaria.
Which is good because the pallid men
emitted white rage, red-faced.
They must have a fever.
Yelling at the women at a fever
pitch.
The basalt men take dictation on the
women's osseous fleshy backs.
This is what the pallid men in white
said to the women
as the men of basalt restrained the
women.
"You
will respect me!"
Was written and rewritten.
These bruises were early drafts.
In the final version, the pallid
men,
in pallid attire, ordered the men of
basalt
to cut off the women’s breasts.
Laying there,
breast less,
these human note pads read,
"Everybody knows that you need
to be tougher with these dudes.
You need to be tougher!
Yes!
You need to be tougher!
Everybody knows that you need to be
tougher with these dudes.
They only understand the back of a
hand."
Like the empiricist Boyle at home in the
inorganic world of forms and qualities.
A cataclysmic stream
through time
That defies the Skeptic's criterion
"presence"
with a darker tonal pressure
Brown skin
that gives
the impression
that he would stride
through a sit-in.
Until a bottle hit him.
He's knocked out.
Waking up, yanked from a
Freedom Ride.
In prison
he
kept the guards pissed with his
singing.
Using wrist breakers
to loosen his grip
as
they tried
to take away his mattress.
Putting him in solitary
after assaulting the cell bars.
His egalitarian values
wouldn't allow him
special treatment.
Flower petals forming
Fibonacci fractals
in the shadow of pine tree
needles.
Rabbits race away from their
oncoming
footsteps.
They, a Roman legion of two.
They, a La Grand Familia
together eternally like dope
in the pocket of a dead
Crip.
She, the heroine
He, a busted bag.
She escapes because nothing
can contain her spirit.
She is a fine wine spilled
on the outdated globe,
wasted on this world.
They make Fibonacci fractals
in the dusty Terra firma
as they rush to their spot
Where Apollo constructs fantasies
of a marble temple with
pillars piercing the misty night sky.
The billowy columns are so
high
the lovers believe they must
be the
faces of the gods.
This is the problem,
like the Fibonacci fractals
the fantasy
multiplied past its own
infinity,
pushing her out.
[1] Grievances are
handled in ways
freaking
ending these pains without the deficit spending.
Fuck
a conservative sentinel.
I'm
liberal with prolix words in fentanyl
lased
rituals I call sentences.
Sentenced
to habitual
visuals
of individuals in the citadel.
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