capris in the summer
not because i like to
but becuse i have to
it seems silly because all people wear shorts
but not me
because i was a cutter
and the scars are hidious
so i go on like everyone else
just wearing capris in the summer

Does she wonder what I’ll think
when I find that freshly burned
evidence of a habit—I thought—
she dropped long ago? What upsets
me the most is that she couldn’t
confront her weakness enough
to buy a cheaper brand.

Lean                                                             ­       
Delicate                                                 ­                                                     
“ne plus ultra”                                      
Cooked slow                              
Gastronomically Intelligent        
Unassuming                                              
Gentle ­                                   
Docile
Fashionable                                  
“ne plus ultra”                                          
Ethical         ­                                         
Ecological ...    
...voices rumbling through refined-dining,

Excuse Moi, Mr.Gluttony

Since when is Meat Ethical?
If meat became so Ethical,
Then,
How Ethical You are?

Sheathing your hypocrisy                
and luck of humanity                                
with pompous words,                      
style and fancy clothes,
while you tingling your gustative papillae
with  “le goût friand”, étiquette,
capris and mannerism.
                                                    
You                                                            ­    

Don’t **** the rabbit! so                                                    
the rabbit can **** you in no time, “pooka”
          
Don’t tell                                                  
No one pre-empt you,                            
when asking for healing.

Reverse back to the verse
I throw ya in you cursed
Watch me put them rhymes in a hearse
Sound the eulogy
Cuz none get next to me
Im swift as bruce lee
Kicks hard like Chung Li born in 83
Add the 4 more ya get *******
Im crazier than Cujo these putos
Dont want it on the mic
You aint murderin nothin'
but ya own sight
I brailled ya envision changed your decision
Whatin' n guessin' a prediction?
Is it me or is it the way the
Way my rhymes please ?
Bow to ya knees
I make the crowds freeze
Even ya fans say bless you! when i sneeze
I bet you still wear dungerees or high heels with tight capris
I thought ya heard  im the rappin' don Shapiro
Shine n spin  around haters like disco
Sip old school Sisqo hit the blunts slow
Let the smoke meditate my mind flow
Learn how to grind ill put  ya on a flat line
Resuscitate your rhymes just to put you back on the flat line
Searchin' for the light im dolemite
My game **** tight know how to write
When ya step to legend im gifted
Young black n hung
I keep ya lifted
Got hoes on the tip of they toes
Just to hear suave flow
Pockets of dough
Thats how it goes
Pistol cocked to ya nose
Ya thoughts are froze i suppose
Dont redeem ya self
My rhymes hittin' so hard
Made the minds deaf
Cuz when ya try to diss me ya diss ya self
The microphone murderer
Aint never left !!!!

Yo everyboy gather around
Hand me the crown
Cuz ya know im King of the ****
My NY freestyles stay lit
TEXAS is where i reign
Home of the ******* up clique
This life i live aint no ****** puzzle
Tryin to figure me out gets gun to ya muzzle
Dont meddle in my ****
Spinnin' out the wombs
From cradle to my tomb
Im hittin' ya curves that go straight
Flows penetrate so hard make girlies mind  *******
Who can relate?
To my skills raws as ever
Goin' in with my raw potato skin
Bust my nut then i leave em blowin in the wind
If ya a hater i gotta mack 10
Extra clips on my hips ****** done then i dip
Listen closely to the story being told
I wont grow old never will i fold
Platinum or Gold knots
check the tic toc
My money on clockwork  
rolex watch
Worth 50 gran an on the other hand
Is the microphone
Turn the amps up mic up
Leave crowds minds blown
From nut being shown my tone
Is laid back these nigguhs
Spittin' is wayyy wack
While you pushin' Honda im in a Maybach
No frills only the real i spit so you can feel
Givin' head aches to radio station
Cant tune me out im like exacerbation
Crush my opponent everytime he bust a rhyme
They give up even before they heard mine
Intimator from dope originator
Now im the terminator eliminator
Showed up yo party they still didnt play ya
Im old school fool soul filled with blues
Leave my competitiors on front line news
It goes a little like this
This is a replica of a Chris this aint a diss
But an address
To you punks who wanna **** around
With the master of this ****
Duck quick or these rounds will put you in the ground
Flat line..........

(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 2, 2016)

We’ve been framed in one of those initially sticky
new snaps of plastic advent technology. At my birth
a blast of blue and blood orange. All of us in diminutive
stiff portraits, bordered in white. Mother is chic-thin,

hair towering in one last hurrah for the old decade,
Byzantine print blouse to match her solid orange Capris.
Big brother is seven, bully-freckled in light blue and crying
under his father’s arm. This will turn to sublimated rage.

The middle boy is off to the side, at five years dubious.
He is also sporting patterns of gray Byzantine. His shoe is untied
and we will not remember the same things. A dark void
of couch separates him and his feet are hanging

high above a rug which is dutifully shagged and tan
as if we’re all fleas on the hide of Benji. The couch is rough,
upholstered in a Baroque of dark blue and other blues
like an act foretelling a tough forthcoming.

Dad has the forehead of high Renaissance.
He’s wearing some suede kind of loafer and the confidence
of someone who has just learned to set a camera timer.
I don’t know where his glasses are or if there were any yet.

What a smart bunch or soon to be smart bunch.
I am the fat one, a diamond of balancing white
in my mother’s polyester lap, not yet one, most probably
kicking,  noticeably turned to the crying brother

as if I’m full of knowledge about what this means
and how delicate the emotional balance will always be.
I remember the wallpaper felt like dried wheat.
Despite everything, we usually all vote pretty much the same.

there's nothing personable about wintry skies above the boston harbor
it gets ugly along the ridgepole of rhode island and providence plantations
this time of year

i ink off the dome
along the varicose veins of these violent streets

we smash more
because life indoors
is the gateway to new manners
or points of psychosis
if your boo doesn't get you
enough to get along

it storms snow where we bump

some think it's fine
or that it's by design lakes freeze over here
and mold mirrors made with angels in mind
but it's a terrific tragedy
the death of colors, inhibitions and innocence
choked away from the branches certain seasons undress

the way no one knows enough to mourn

but mother nature's a chameleon
and new england is the skin that won't keep

it's the backend of the wannabe springtime middays in may
when shorties lose their minds again
a few hours every other day
rock cutoffs and capris
because the sun showed her shine again

but she's so premature
and we've dreamed dreams before this way
against the grain
so we get high to get by like smokeheads do

but i need something sexier to wake up to
like garden birds and backyard bird feeders
american robins and the orioles
that i imagine must use their sugar water to maintain better bongs

because it's a slow burn...
the backside of northeastern calendar months

and my consequent mood swings
are 1 of 2 things that need adjusting
but it is what it is, and too cold anyway
so smiles crack beneath the pressure
like glass poets in poetry slams

I ran into an old friend
styled brunette hair
fire engine red lipstick
rose blouse open to
possibilities
white capris and.....
flip flops

we hugged and exchanged
pleasantries
caught up with another
we walked away.

no second glances
no look back at a
shaking ***

she used to *******
so....
no goodbye kisses either
It had been two years
since I had seen her

It was a cool southern morning
The afternoon would be sweltering

"One day, my baby, one day..."
Earphones blaring
Is anyone staring?

I'm looking and glaring
My life is a reflection
Different sensations
Forbidden temptations
In abundance, oh oh in abundance.

Late nights of foreplay
More days of who says
Paramore is punk rock
Nah, man--I'd hate to be that sanctimonious ***** but
**** my ****.
Para para para
A ground for me to stand on

As my heart continues to waver on to the pacific sea.
"Dope, shoot it up--straight to the heart please."

Yes, this is me--the girl with unkempt hair and a messy soul.
No cigarettes lit
No fathers hit.
Nirvana shirt crumpled for a Queen
Capris & Chicken Legs
Tattered flip flops
Hair more unkempt than ever.

You know what?
**** my ****, **** my ****, **** my ****.

Dangerous and courageous
Yeah--no that it is not who I am
A girl who just discovered her inner jezebel
Or a girl who understands hell?

I want to be one of you all
I want to be a lover this fall*

A dreamer, a painter, a believer.

Blasting Cobain's voice under my shaggy hair
Jack Kerouac's truth shining through
His words give comfort.
"Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable"

Schizophrenic, psychotic
Lithium, H.M.

"For once I'm just gonna live".

Thanks to men like you, thanks to women like you
The girl with unkempt hair and a messy soul
Messier souls and more unkempt hair days await her
She may smile softly or bite in another 'sorry!'

But she's....moving on.

Thank you, U.

I caught you walking down the street
summer hair and red capris
asked why you did me wrong
Why did you throw me down?

I look up with blurry eyes
to mountains and foamy skies
The tip of my tongues tasting dour
Why’d you toss me off the tower?

You said love was all for fools
hot blood and lusting drool
maybe I’m just a tool
discarded by the Putrid Queen?

This cruel world always reaps
spilling darkness forever seeps
I can’t outrun the flow
Why did you leave me for dead?