Thought is the Place

Addressing dress and deportment in

departments, the reserved apartments

of space taken up residence in my mind.

The way I carry the torch my ancestors

left behind, bound to descendants

descending down, battling with demons

they had to deal with, buy and sell,

by and by finally here where the devil

came to dwell, the recesses of hell.

Bounce

I admit… nowadays I’ve been living out some of my worst days,

constantly tempted to follow, fall, and falter, always trip up

over wires strung too tight, heavy feet can’t tip toe light, tightropes

I’ve traveled over couldn’t handle the gravity of this new weight,

a new balance, accounts dried up, pockets empty, lint lined thin,

out on a limb, dropping the ball so many times I’m afraid to count,

remember; recount pastimes that took time away from real matter.

But the ball’s coming back farther…                 B

Couldn’t handle the pressure once, it all seemed gargantuan, Atlas akin.

But I know it will b                         o

   o

                                         u

     u

                              n

       n

                  c

  c

       e

     e back harder…

All the way pumped up, character bursting at the tendons, ligaments,

tending to my garden now, donning light what was meant to weigh me,

n.

w

o

d

22 or 11?

Put two and two together,

twenty-two reasons why

I never need to go there,

to get her, forever singular.

However, there is advantage in thoughts intertwined.

One combined with one,

looked like two to the

naked eye, but I spied

and took time, added

to eleven, minds expand

to fit, overcome seven

enemies, split & divided,

three dead, four more

bickered head to head.

Nuanced

A Prophet had a fit, a seizure induced vision,

so he advised the King of times to come

where the birds would no longer sing, herds

of cattle could drop where they stood, wheat

wither in the wake of winds from dark woods.

Foggy futures past, like dew from blades of grass,

the King didn’t listen, was engrossed in the profits

that he engorged upon, was made fat and mad on,

the Prophet tossed in jail for causing ruckus amongst

the peoples with perceived tales spun, a due date was

set for him to be strung up like a marionette, hung.

It’s a dangerous business for prophets to talk on profits,

even when intentions are valiant, chicken hawks won’t admit

the truth, acquit, twist proof from fear, all are counterfeit.

Read history, not every story ends happily ever after,

The mad prosper, the bad escape, good die in their wake,

Proceed to build with eyes open, know evil, know virtue,

Life isn’t black and white, a nuanced state of mind 2 keep.

Heist

I feel out the people’s zeitgeist,

blitzkrieg the countryside,

women screaming, abide

by holy prayer, Jésus Christ.

Excuse my filthy French,

Sacré dieu, bleu, le feu rage

while I scope out the scene,

I don’t omit, who, why, where,

what, how it came to be seen.

Moving to commit myself to

felony heist, keen on the green.

Hunter

When you come across a Wolf, grinning,

know that there are three more that

surround you, waiting patient, scheming

to shear wool off a sheep that grew fat

from the Man, his loyal Dogs, his habitat.

They say that mathematics doesn’t lie,

but numbers can be deceiving when

the needy come knocking low and high,

expecting their fair share, their halves,

not a hair less, not a hare more to die.

There are hunters, and then there are the hunted:

Lupi et Lepores

Now

Don’t wait to fulfill your plans until Monday,

You will have missed a fill of six other full days,

and in your delay be only left with the mundane.

For others toiled while you lay, while you still play,

their patience a bitter bounty, taken dead or alive,

yours was sweet, a death row inmate’s last meal

already tasted, with winter waxing, a harvest wasted.

Each day helps to build on the morrow,

but don’t sorrow, let that drop you into despair,

for if your past is pockmarked with disrepair,

or has its origin in a pair of desert destitute designs,

remember that the future is a gift granted to the living,

a present time, limited, yet one that keeps on giving.

A paradox at the same time connected & separated,

infinitely continuous but with no relation to the next.

Time that stands on its own foundation,

that merits the best.

Time,

a moment in space -

Now.

Hoarse

A man that could trace no meaning around his life,

Found the foundations

of his days to be long.

The weeks flew by,

the countryside – jetting.

Months crossed cities,

steady trains traversing,

all in the blink of an eye.

Saddled with depression – the weight of memories past,

bridled by anxiety, lead with leaden feet to a path already cast.

He mulled over family details, tired, hoarse over screaming out,

for Father was a Horse, mother was a Donkey, so a mule came about.

An obstinate character kept him trudging on, over mountain passes,

stayed clean, sterile to the core, in order to keep moving, keep pushing.

Ranges past from east to west, north to south, as far as he could see,

a burden born, never ending, Sisyphean, oasis always over the horizon.

Brothers felt his pain, remembered him once to be sane,

knew he was able, didn’t want him to submit, to succumb to cane,

A bogged down mind they helped to drain,

a drowned fervor for life they resuscitated.

Brought fire back to his eyes, a heat, fever created.

My man came around; but his war won’t end ‘till he keels over,

So he continues to box round by round, bobbing and weaving,

dodging old habit, pernicious habitats, squashing out new bullshit,

like roaches that scatter when the lights flicker, raided parasites from life.

Priorities in order, importance understood, he now knew that he could.

“But small is the gate and narrow is the way

that leads to life, and only few find it.”

Rhyme and Reason

I have to find proof in the word,

if it doesn’t rhyme, flow with rhythm,

keep tempo with the swings, then

it logically has no reason, no truth.

Soviet

Summer has melted,

Autumn’s awe

is ripe, falling.

A cold war

be blowing over,

a Soviet order.

So be it, frozen

together.

Idea

Ideas aren’t like light bulbs, sparking overhead,

they arrive like the scratching of a key in a

rusty doorknob, as you lay in dream state, in bed.

Your mind will remain scared, scarred by

history if you don’t remember what was said.

The ghost of a forgotten memory haunting

one’s creations, the living wilting petals, dead.

The loss of a passport, a girl’s I.D., an idea

that could of blossomed into family, one’s

lack of decisiveness led to divisiveness, the

definition of a deficit, deficiency in opportunity.

Snapshot

If a picture speaks one thousand words

then my life’s that Section 80 album cover.

The vice & virtue narrow, flowing fjords,

Kung Fu Kenny dealing with all these birds.

Dancing with available veiled Devils, hovering

in daydreams communing with my distant Gods.

Too Late

You won’t realize the danger after the gunshots,

You won’t realize the danger after the bodies drop,

When the wheels start screeching, they start screaming,

Even when they start running for the hills, seeing blood spilt,

You’ll realize the danger odd when the barrel is eyeing you,

Pointing you out, circling out your figure, double oh seven,

But even then it will be too late, towers falling, nine eleven.

Wavy

You’re a wave runner?

Yea ma, ha, ahaha.

Revolt, Revolve, Revolution

My roots dug deep, seeds sprouted heavy trees,

They went up in smoke, lifting me past high seas,

Mixing the conscious form with unconsciousness,

Soul dropped from body, an emergency ejection ethereal,

One’s ether use would fool the likes of Eliot Ness,

The breaking of tradition and culture was surreal,

Ventured out into the woods naked, returned dressed.

Wordsmith

You got a way with words Mister.

Oh… do I now, Sister?

You know, you got away with my heart…

With the sentences I strung along?

Those very same ones…

Soldier

Soul blown into body by Jah;

A Souljah’s Soldier protecting

ya soul from the apathy, the

jaded fowl, the cold shoulder,

the existential nihilistic fantasy,

rocking down mountains, bolder

generations, imaginations weaker,

with excuses sputtering fountains.

How it Works

Shit runs parallel, perpendicular,

carousel, perpetually penned circular,

sometimes it even runs down hill, many

times it’s crown rests on those who kill.

Already determined, Cartesian plane.

It’s all plain and simple really,

only a few derivations point

to the correct answer, silly.

Word

Embolden the youth,

Emphasize, italicize

The sooth, speak

Truth, to soothe.

Underline strengths,

Strike through their

Insecure / ties,

Their insecurities.

Teach them to foresee,

CAPATALIZE,

On opportunity.

Normal

How does one stay normal when an

abnormal environment leads one to

make ends off of the coat tails of

tales bullet riddled, leaden rain flying,

dropping, overhead, a reign abhorrent.