the clanking
of the radiator
the only sound

except her breaths
which she counts, as if
she knows the finite number
until her last

her coffee cold;
in it she sees the night
from which she came:
the blind, deaf walkers,
the fuming taxis she left
in the square streets

her eyes well
with the last drops
of the last light
of the last star
in her galaxy
of loss

only one tear falls
into her cradled cup
where it vanishes into
the indifferent sea

she sups it slowly
back inside, where night belongs
but never stays

This my first joint, I'll get to the point
I AM's Phiwrit and I am 'bout to anoint
The mic, spell it right, Phiwrit
That's a Pirate written in Phi glyphs
P-H-I W-R-I-T
Rhyme in Peace to my man Zoe Cassidy
'bout to go H.A.M Bohemian Rhaps on me

If you're feelin' sweet get the tooth to cracking
Lift your heel of feet with Root Beer and Kraken
Coming in bombastic elastic Tentacle *******
Fantastically drastic one hint none-at-all could stop me
If I want to float I'll drop ice cream
No flaunt or gloat will stop my dream
Jew Kid LuSiD O sleep walking
New bid you hid so stop talking
I'm not off nodding, just bar soldering
Together a word weapon for bard's slaughtering
Of Weak emcees get weak in knees, fodder sing
it loud. Smoke it proud if allowed oughta bring
A pound to smoke, and a pound for blokes
my pound drops you choke I'll make that coke
I Am's famished lamb through whom He spoke
I Am's alchemist hand so Jew's suit bespoke

Isn't it beautiful! "What is he woke?"
This isn't conscious rap what g wrote
What you need notes I just take tokes
Spin reel raw this kid veal real spoke
Isn't it beautiful! "What is he woke?"
This isn't conscious rap what g wrote
What you need notes I just take tokes
Spin reel raw this kid veal real spoke

Who the **** is this enraging Holy Spirit towards
scorn in the crack of dawning
'bout to leave your whole fam mourning
swipe the gold from your lies,
leave you weak emcees to die
This the verbal molotov, tongue's a cunning kalishnokov
No rushing for roulette without 32 red spot
leave your tops popped off minus the maseltov
watch your Bay, Hasselhoff, don't try to hassle, nah,
on the stripper pole I'll smack your ****** tassels off
Strip you whole rip a new hole raw
Your crew give this Jew hip-hop-hoorah
pass the hookah bowl has a whole oz of *****
Pass the hash on ash let's get to toking some
I ain't a quaint token bet but a vet potent sum
I got 99 balloons you ain't yet poking one

Sit your *** down son, no tsun-tsu
But by now you can tell I've son'd you
I know exactly who's behind who fund you
But I Am too into my grind to even run you
Sit your *** down son, no tsun-tsu
But by now you can tell I've son'd you
I know exactly who's behind who fund you
But I Am too into my grind to even run you

I've been *****, torture taped up, agape; Sup!
Five my brown eye violated, by a guy I hate, uhg,
then my mind grind down by amphetamine design.
******* thought wiles stomp step-son's shine,
18 years later survived, re-up, rep RUN, thrive.
My steel guise steal eyes of these evil powers,
Though it been a while still hold my inner child.
Real cold, don't feel bold, though my soul Israel gold,
Brought to keel o'er by Toyota RAV4 Leaf Blower.
I Am Leaf Hear Me Roar, the poem I wrote before
Back in grade 6. Yo I was hated, knew I was fated,
My mind, God made it, memory faded, spirit elated.
These lines, amazing, aether affinity pacing.
Style Simpletons simply speak sprocket simile
My mild meta-core makes metaphor mechanically
Alas all abysmal alliteration alludes automatically

Don't point your automat at me in laundromat
Don't pack no gat bust rust carry on, yo, hepcats
Nothing you send my way disuades or set back
I'll keep spitting until I get my *** back
Don't point your automat at me in laundromat
Don't pack no gat bust rust carry on, yo, hepcats
Nothing you send my way disuades or set back
I'll keep spitting until I get my *** back
(Home...)
As I roam and write in my dome's tome
This just a piece that I've shown
OM

A floppy hat
shades her face

while she sits
cross-legged

and alone
over coffee

with her thoughts
that should be private

except we see
through a plate glass
window

that she's waiting
for a train

to come down the track

Whit Howland © 2020

the man in the fine suit
gave me three hard quarters--those Washingtons were smiling at me, waiting to be swallowed by the machines at Horn and Hardart's Automat, where

there was but one old lady
standing, still as a statue, in front of a machine
her reflection on the glass staring back at her,
a haunting twin, from a different

mother. I could taste those ham sandwiches
waiting, but when that first quarter chinked its way into that dispenser, the old woman and her reflection turned to me, hungry

for something I couldn't taste;
so I gave her my other quarters, and hurried
into the night, chewing my food,
still hungry when done, but far
from her tired eyes, far

She's been sitting there for 100 years
sipping and mostly not sipping;
She's so lonely, I hate it. Nothing ever came along to save her.
Nothing changes. No one ever good ever asked her to dance.
She didn't know how to dance but she never stopped wanting to.
It's too hard to know all about it now.

Shunda mu hi uh, i am Pentecostal, I am not ashamed, just read the Book of Acts, I worship only one God, the King of the Jews is His name.
I am Apostolic, and I am not afraid.

She's been sitting there for 100 years,
what do I do with the Delfts blue
what do I do with the Makkum

I worship only one God, the King of the Jews is His name.
I am Apostolic, and I am not afraid.