And on the third day he rose
eyes red from creation
a sativa-induced resurrection

And though many searched for him
he was not there
he was already philosophy and smoke

Now, centuries later
millions roll themselves in his dogma
with hopes of getting high

One must be invariably brilliant to tag a bathroom stall
   the throne room of sages

And so it was
   that middle school ***** were shrouded in ******* wisdom

And in college
   some Platonic rebel, a self proclaimed tyrant
enlightened the blind
versed solely in idealism- Freshmen

Post hoc
an underground caffeine ****** relabeled toilet paper college diplomas
accepting the cheapest education afforded me
irony quizzically probed~
               will you ever join the ranks of legend?
                                  somewhere...
                                                        ...some faded wall awaits your signature

And so
   in some near distant future
   I did respond
   to porcelain tiles
   idley surrounding a porcelain judge
               for a ****** time
               call 864-5387 (toilets)
               available for complaints 24/7

I don't think the judge caught my humor
probably too disposed with degrees

hours wasted in idle threat
I said I would do something
I said I would wring these words
   until they pooped a diamond
and instead of selling it
I would share it with the world

but the past 207 minutes have been nothing but brain farts

you wanna live life but it's not in your hands
the school systems ruthless it's making demands
you're scoping success but no victory dance
without a college degree

* I'll dibble in this and I'll dabble in that
but with no major you'll have to go back
you're on the wrong train because it's not on a track
Go! and get that degree!

education- the system, not education for free
for 30 long years you'll be paying the fee
knowledge is debt; that's what it looks like to me
* America, **** your degree!

Home**
                                            heart
        ­  city
                                                          ­                               apple
                                                           ­        core
           burn
                                                            ­                      hellfire
fall
                           garden
                                                          ­                                                 well
                                             water
                                                           sky
          bottle
                                            ­                                  whiskey & ***
                                            drunk
           ­                                                                 ­                                             lost
            Found
staircase
                                ­                                   tears
                         relief
                                                          ­                           flood
                                               God
                                 ark
                                                             ­                                 promise
               broken
                                                          ­                glass
                                           ­    catastrophe
                                                     ­                                         connectedness
ONE

I caught the sun with my hand
and ate it like a blood orange
pulp bursting through my seams
it seems imagination has lost its shine

the chaos king has orderd his
                                                             ­                                                          steps
                                                           ­   with
                   sporadic
                                                        ­                          rights
                                ­                         and
innumerable
                                                 ­                                                    lefts

after my first true betrayal
I found myself mumbling
                                              snitches get stitches
shredding the dignity of my conscience
I left a paper trail of trust
   -a reminder for those to come
sprinkled the strands over my scars
and let them settle into the backdrop of my pain
I learn from my mistakes
(even kept the hilt as a memento)

but Tre...
                Tre is different

we need some clouds up in this piece*

   ~the dying wish of a sunny day

Insanity

I-N-S-A-N-I-T-Y

Insanity- doing the same thing over and over and over again and expecting different results


The First Time...ended in downpour
a shower of sorts
self-inflicted and long
she rolled off my body like water
her name rolled from my mouth
actually, her name was never in my mouth
I did not swallow it
   or rinse with it
it was not exchanged
it just dropped
   ...like the water


The First Time...started with a call
with nerves
she was all conservative sweater
her clothing did not betray her
sunken in couch
I was all of 16
my words betrayed me
No, maybe I betrayed my words
or maybe my mind betrayed us both
or maybe all betrayed all
   each of my personalities lost within another
I was all of 16, pre-downpour

The First Time...was the worst time
sunken in couch to sunken in bed
I was all of 16, I was all of betrayal
She...was all LIBERAL
They say,
in the weakest of moments, the spirit is loosened from the body - a detachment of sorts
in my most sensual of moments, my body was loosened from my spirit
     a weakness I guess

the first time ended with me
   in a ******
       in a trashcan
            in a bathroom that was not mine
the first time ended in downpour

~6 years~

The Second Time
#post downpour/ pre-tempest

The Second Time...started with nerves
   with a call
       with an itch that needed scratching
I already knew the ending
-happy
...then downpour
I was all of grown boy
sunken in couch was a different chapter
sunken in bed was a different chapter
this time, I was the author

...the rest is still unwritten...

Born…
   with flesh that contradicts nervous system
        that contradicts skeletal system
                                                          ­             I am body
torn by its very nature
                                                          ­             I am lost
with troubled soul
   swirling in the cesspool that is life
        only hope of firm ground
                                                          ­             I am teen
with limited past                                                             ­                                          yet promising future
the result of an overbearing mother
   and a negligent father
                                                          ­             I am young black man
who has acted as a dumping ground
for words of wisdom
   and honorable ethics
                                                          ­             I am tamed chameleon
                                                       ­                I am weary traveler
yet to begin his journey
   nothing more than a loner searching for a rock
                                                            ­           I am questioning dreamer
a blind eye
   trapped on the inside looking out
                                                             ­          I am double-edged book
bound at the hems
   by veins interwoven into a heart of passionless calm
                                                            ­           I am heart
that beats once a year
   and on occasion of a pulse through my ear
                                                             ­          I am sound wave
waiting for my group
   a team of gears
        interlocking and shifting
             interlocking and shifting
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                      in constant pattern
too scared to slip outside the mold
                                                            ­           I am puppeteer’s puppet
my strings stay taut even in moments of rebellion
                                                       ­                I am slave to those who lead
because I
   am
innate follower
                                                        ­               I am pawn to those who will me
and doormat to those who seek refuge
                                                          ­             I am the lethargic day
that drags into eternity
   the deplorable boredom that hinders life
                                                            ­           I am the sad sap
that rolls down a crying tree
                                                            ­           I am the lack
that fills the vacuum
   the fluff
        that merely attracts the eye while providing nothing
                                                         ­              I am intricate façade
for bland building
                                                        ­               I am sky-filled bottle
with unscrewed cap
   an underman
        with self-contained potential
                                                       ­                I am statistic
a variable trying to escape definition
                                                      ­                 I am athlete
natural as the earth
at heart
   a quitter trained to persevere

                                                      ­                 I am carbon footprint
being slowly blown away by the sands of time

All these things I am
   yet all at once I am not
I am not what you see
   nor what you know
        for I cannot be known
I am not philosopher
   but then again
        if we count what I am not
                                                             ­                                                                 ­         then I do not even exist

                                                          ­             I am not written word
                                                            ­     because paper is constricting

behind what digit does greatness hide
for surely it is seen in mass
though mark it bold if self-proclaimed
a self-called victory is oft for last

and on what pedestal is greatness praised
enshrined and head bestowed with gold
or is it meek and humbly bred
unrecognized beneath the fold

in the sea's unwavering crash
in the sky's expanse unspared
in the ant's resilient march
all things great when uncompared

and can it be that we are great
perhaps in just one other's eyes
I know that I am full of it
why do you hide in plain disguise

I wanna punch a hole in a hole
make the blackest black
crawl inside
   and sleep

this
     is not insomnia
        this is lust
   twisted into the most frustrating knot
             and dawned with the ugliest bow

lying in bed
I swear I can hear the ceiling crack
it is mocking me
   incessant cackling
        I wanna tear this ******* room apart
crumple walls and bury them beneath buckling kness

I cannot stay still
it's like I've been touched
   and left to dry
aroused
   then left to die

        this is no way to end

my bones are starving hyenas
the bed, a watering hole
there is a slumbering carcass next to me
its flies
   buzz tidings of sheep-filled fields
     ~utopias of sleep~

but I
   am surrounded by night
no stars               no sheep               no sleep
only silence
   but not dark enough
this hole is not dark enough

someone punch a hole in me
I need to get some sleep

I caught myself head bobbing to ******
leaking red ink on vinyl
keep the track spinning
doing rounds of H-bomb clouds
all white got my head on tight
got my nose off right
check the center
if I could see it
muddled beats lead to reaps
Jack's a busy man
death a grave business
all trades
he deals diamonds for profits
sick the Hound
he's got no time for games
thrones be melted down
set the mold for a caravan
desert eagles circle corpses
warm body, not for long
heat brings in the winter
tore snow through his soul
****, I thought blacks ain't like cold
they nod to that **** you give it a hook though
caught up in the bait
cheap and shiny
rock their life away
as it drums in the ear
keep the bass bumpin
mama'll keep pumping the tears
gassed up with super diesel
you gotta peep the subliminal
laced up in the air
inecessant bumble of the bees
got a sting like no chaser
wait to explode, to exhale, to bust
oozie laid to rest
patient is revenge
but always with a righteous fist
BOOM!

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Chops'
     because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
     and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
     and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
     took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
     with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed alot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
     Valentine signed with a row of X's
     and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Autumn'
     because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
     and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
     because of its new paint
And the kids told him
     that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
     with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
     when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
     his mother and father kissed alot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
     when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
     he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'
     because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
     and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
     because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
     of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
     making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
     or even talked
And the girl around the corner
     wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
     but he kissed her anyway
     because that was the thing to do
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed
     his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
     he tried another poem
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing'
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each ****** wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
     because this time he didn't think
     he could reach the kitchen

beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
     and laces rubber tread
~a field of ****** curls
     and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames          like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
     fringed in anger
          runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
  
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
     blasting from blacked out tints
          weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
     or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
like flowerbeds

beyond Montana
is a country of bar stools
   where bar tenders play therapists
        and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes

beyond Montana
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
beyond Montana
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
beyond Montana
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels

That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
   yourself
        your friends
             your country
she challenges you to
**STOP DRUNK DRIVING

Train Sets were always the coolest gift
I mean, I never got one
but that's what the movies say

now I ride trains daily
monotonous jumble of
commute.work.commute. sleep.

a ******
   brains get swallowed whole without my morning Joe
but there was a time...

...there was a time when
I rode that Polar Express to bliss
        crazed off hot chocolate
   golden ticket in hand

then
I slipped on ice caps
instead of sleeping on beaches
dreaming up Mad Hatter candy mogels

then
Tom Hank's voice was the patter of reindeer
and magic was cast by wizards
   not scientists

A White Beard
wise as Gandolf & Dumbledore
   specked with canyons of God
would laugh jolly into a nation
        into a season
   into that dusting galaxy of a child's eye

that beard
   holy and revered
would laugh humanity into a rattled world

slipping down chimneys
it would leave propaganda of hope
in the form of trainsets

No, I never got one
     but I loved that beard
        and the silver bells on its sleigh

they are voiceless now
but I keep them for their shine
I miss those days
                 ...sometimes...
I think about them on my train rides
wishing I had a different destination

This gun to the temple of my dome
I am faced with a single question
Should I shoot?
Or let fly the words just uttered?
The mouth of the devil’s minion lies open
nagging
     and picking
picking
     and nagging
          at a lost cause - a deaf cause
And Yet
     it feels
          it angers
               it rages
no longer containable
     it erupts
no clip for a gun
only bullets of air
air of truth
                                                           ­                  and so
                                                              ­             I choose
                                                          ­        and before I think
                                                      TR­IGGER
a crescendo of cacophony

HATE

A tear falls. The truth escapes. A jaw drops.
she did it to herself
all those years of nonstop badgering
she did it to herself
all those years of hypocrisy and disrespect
she did it to herself
blood flows from her eyes for my pleasure
a stream of emotion dammed by emptiness

she did it to herself