Momma was born a hip hop head
She'd whisper beats and rhymes in my ear right before bed
We played dress up every day
she'd do my hair up real nice
when daddy had the good dough
mamma partied dripping in ice.
and even when the jackets were too heavy
and my braided head too tight
as long as I made mamma look good,
I was doin' alright.
How can I blame her
I only know pieces to her story
there were whole other lives
a long time before me
and to this, I owe her credit
not every day was a dog day
even when I didn't know what to say
I mean she gave me my words when I was four
it made life a little easier when raising the children she bore
And for as long as I could remember
or at least since the 24th of September
She spited dad
promised me she'd always give me all that she had
Wasn't long until she broke it
2 years since we've spoken
but we manage
Momma checked out
left me and my siblings behind
left me alone to make sense of the world with half of her mind
And so here I am now
ripped from my bed
An old beat drew me to write about the love that's dead
12:39 am

Aw yeah, I fancy her, she's fancy, man
I'd love to get them fancy pants
on the floor like a fancy dance
the Spanish ones about lust and romance
I haven't got a chance
feeling chancey man
She's looking over, getting glancey, man
raised the ante up, I'm real antsy, man
She put me in a trance, real trancey, man
I can hardly stand up, need a stand-in, man
can't hardly talk, and she's chatty, man
telling me about her long term plans
all I want is to feel her arms
wrapped round me like an army of plants

Rain! Timpany sounds
on the roof and from the gutters
call me to my front porch.
Such music! Like little
silver hammers striking
the drumhead summer-baked
desert floor. Magical music
murmuring to my muse.

Petrichor, after an extended
dry spell, lingers. Nestling in
my nostrils. How could two
chemical reactions create
such delicious desert desiring?
Duplicity of dust and drought
with a wet, wondrous wealth
of water! Whew... hoo!

My eager eyes behold emerald
instead of dull khaki, brown
and olive hues, odalisque
forms of the prickly pear
will become plump in their
passionate love of
precipitation! Ahhhh...!!

What a joy to behold
the crystal curtain once more!
Small beads of moisture
form on my forehead
and fingers. Fascinating
to feel the hairs on my arms
stand up with the
electricity of negative ions...

Every sense is smothered
with summer storm extract...

ECSTASY!!!