9th
Rambling doesn’t require punctuation.
I talk like my words haven’t thought
about how much weight she lost or
which baby was dropped
off the corner where the people are breathing
like no one has told them that their future’s
receeding into mass polluted lungs
contributions from
fathers who wish that their daughters had gone to
which college not dropped it like obama’s
baby mamma thought she’d go bowling for kid’s sake
don’t forget to give back what you take
I love the name talib kweli it’s like
takin’ the game of spelling and flipping it around
until your tongue is aroused
you’re my carA-mel brother
you touch for the sake of another time to sing
and bring round the good times as long as girl
has her shirt off we don’t need to be jerked off
I have to be honest, i’m nervous like oh god
don’t let anyone step on me while i’m on this journey
not even my self on a gourney to heaven or hell or whichever
is better
not to be discouraged when all else is worthless or hopeless
or forgotten or squirmish thinking of my insides on the outside
and open for all to see but don’t you forget to take in that with all
sin and hopeful regimines and honest working men robots or whatever you
wish to call them, we are all the same inside and out and as cheezy as
that sounds you know it’s the truth so don’t put up your fist when there’s
no enemy, you may as well be hitting a mirror and feeling the terror
terrable pain of hurting yourself without thinking before you swung that fist at
your brother or sister
what is this freedom you speak of? this limited exercise you run through
as you go from a to b, believe in your dreams or all this is pointless
grow older and older and fear that the clock hasn’t told you it’s really
been double the time that you think it’s really all over? well not if you
breathe. remember that time is a tool man created. there’s no way you could
fathom the time it would take to go through war and famine and hurt and pain
only to finally come to peace? sure, when no man remains. it’s quite possible it’s
our desinty to destroy each other to feel you’re on top when you’re really far under
the fat man, the top man, when really it’s god, man. she’s higher than you understand
damn, what was I fighting for again? I realize this talk is going on and you’re looking
at your watch, but hey I caught you. i had just told you that time doens’t exist.
or matter, yes maybe that’s more fitting. all physical things are matter and this drama you
create doesn’t matter
isn’t physical at all it’s a mind created pattern to make you feel tall and like
what you’re doing has purpose, even ideas fall
drop
they want piece like a pie on earth
diggin for wealth like the well ran dry
and you gotta get the last drop or you won’t
be on top! motha fucka back up and let me show
you how it’s done
…
there are birds that can’t get higher than me when I
feel that low sound pulse through ground, branch up through feet, pass sweet
spot, up to heart-beat, creates *wiggles and wobbles and flutters,* vibrations
taking over, I shudder.
almost collapsing from pleasure, you catch me because you understand it’s 3am
peak time for freak shows, throwin’ el-bows, “how low can you go?”
sexual voltage flows through my body when bassline thrusts
this energy is almost too much, “mr DJ, turn that shit up”,
move all night and I can’t get enough
it tickles all the right places in the spaces you can’t touch
it grabs hold of something invisible but existable,
none the less available for music to take hold of like
rope around your neck
it’ll leave a mark, so when you look in the mirror
you’ll remember that night turn to morning when
the bass, it moved you and you turned into liquid, you twist
make figures with limbs, and accordian chest
relase tensions you didn’t even know you had
…
horizon falls over water
wall - splash
tired eyes, rest on pillow of
puff
shush
spaahk
…
the ability to sustain had become
the market catch phrase. for fame?
wanting to say ah, let’s see
ah, let’s be
we be-lieve in finding a nail in the sand
and leaving it there for your children’s
children to step on and bleed the blood that
runs through your veins now
breathe in pollution and breathe out a sigh
of contaminants released from mother’s breast milk baby thrives,
a place meant for nourish and flourish and now is demise
a place of waste and baby must take because
what choice can he make?
…
silk touch
caress
thick hands make weights
the hairs on my body
give in to
pressure
movement
lust
climb in
arch your back, you animal
…A stripper likes me. I think I like her. I can’t really tell because she’s a stripper and the way she moves is so saucy. When she says she loves me, I say I love you(r body and your mysteriousness). She takes me out to the back and we climb ladders. When we get to the top we put on red jump suits and dangle from whichever rung feels right at the time. I always tell her I want to climb back down but she makes me stay and eventually I believe that I want to be there, so I write songs and sing to her and she cook eggs for me. I tell myself that I want to leave but when I see her dance I lose my train of thought. One day I go to the store and I never come back. For a week. I rent a storage shed, and I cook an egg at a friend’s house and it doesn’t taste very good. I realize I need her so I go back home. I like eggs…..
