will my voice ever be
"tongue-tied"
to don a bow-tie...
full length & width
of a tuxedo...
       pretend to shy from
the spotlight...
or...
   butterfly
among flowers of
the spring's scope
for a blinking void
of a human eye...
with all the rigidity
of, said, tongue,
licking the feet
of trampling science...
- banjo makes it
groovy, doesn't it?
licking at a boots
of the relevance
for the "old" continent...
seems...
only europeans are
expected
  to "try to return"
to africa...
with all these h'americans
tender,
when words like paris
are spawned...
if you "people"
are the great "satan"...
then,
quiet, indeed,
am...
       the ancient
                  adversary;
it's so little
for me to remain intact
to reclaim,
    an authority
of a worded posit...
i am no more
the great satan,
than the ageing
scoop...
  riff...
    the solipsism
of what is made
epitome...
     exclusionary...
and... salvaging
the stage
  and the baron lights...
hushing a stated
presence,
with a nocturnal
audience
of, lost in gimmick,
and the shadow script
of applause...

fame, like
a ******* toothache...
my offer?
shuffling feet,
scraps of edges of
geometry made
into architectural
voids...
  yet both:
  of the same hands...

my lacklustre,
my kin...

               if i too...
listened to the words
i could not ever claim
to speak,
before i began to sing
them...
      
then i too, would shut up...
before i spoke,
and instead began
to sing...

     but in this stratum
of social cohesion,
the technical comes,
before,
the scientific comes,
before,
  speech
comes,
                before song...

the impure serves
the servitude of a wish
of purity:
advent of the freedom
of speech,
when so few sing so...
while the always waiting,
the same freedom,
and such scrutiny
of the lost "moral
ought" for thought...

i almost wish i could
fathom myself as
jealous...
  but there's the "ship"...
and there's the bottle
of *****...
  and there's
the kursk...
   and there's the perpetual...
discovering h'america
in a can of sardines...

there is an audience...
but... rarely
the exacted worth
of the spotlight...

i'm an old devil,
with the current youth
of the antagonißed devil
in question
of america... assured
a presence of influence...
on the sly...

  and...
  shattered to
   scuttle among
the shallow depths
of a puddle,
having once made
a surrender
to standing, ankle-deep
on the shoreline,
before the grand breath
of the sea.