Kitchen-hungry red
Ocean-water teal
Blacks bonded together
Stitched and adhered
   contemporarily
Symmetrically
    stacked
  to lay flat
on my kitchen floor
Crimson 50′s clock
quietly going tick-tock
during rests of audio activity
Wrestling with dogs
during the turning of cogs
to unwind pent up energy
The day of rest and solitary conquest
puts me in no hurry to leave this nest
For I appreciate and want to bathe in
everything I have...for now.

the internet... give me a break... i'm trailing on lost bookmarks and postage-stamps, ******* i'm trailing, i'm making up time, the invention is new, i'm making the most of it, you start telling me it's like the wild-wild-west and... well... don't know, i'd be praying to be employed as a cowboy.*

hard time killing floor always excavates the best in me,
never mind Howlin' Wolf or Jay Lee, or the deafman
and Muddy - blind Willie Johnson and Delta Bob...
there's just too much humanity to encapsulate it all;
and perhaps that's the foremost sadness,
a sadness that states: too many of us to choose an idol,
and choosing an idol crucified won't help either
even if literate with the Bible or not;
Jehovah's witnesses won't help you either,
the scourge comes
lessened in magnitude of *****'s locust;
you go be on your way politicising
the African demise, but i got to celebrate
that from the Slave trade...
agonising memories of Mozart and Beethoven,
the blues, then jazz, then the **** ****-burger Elvis,
go back and moan me a blues than you politicise
in a baptist church blind to archaeology of 19 45;
some too said too often the Olive Garden and
the historian Josephus making it contemporarily true;
sing me the blues man exported, than this Ivory Coast
enigma crucibles of what i too would moan about
concerning noble birth; and that too, with inverted commas
gladly forgotten given the silken shawls;
TELEVISIONS AREN'T CAMPFIRES YOU YO-YO *****!

Bygone halcyon,
In the waters of rain, wash away.
Dams burst and levees break,
Succumbing to the weight
That stands tall today, contemporarily.
Currents swell with all old & well,
Newly made is the way
The path now flowering.
Personified in ideal & representation;
Tradition is upheld, yet progress is not stalled
For the options are plenty
Beyond elders simply floundering

The great pessimist of the century,
wins over fate by the order of all-
Knights in blue in matters of righteously
Collapsing on its knees named ‘fairness’ wons
A century of dismissals of cries,
Descending again rewinding demise.
The image of its state in perfect shapes,
Formed outside prevalent ties, with craniums,
with faces non-eccentric intentions,
sovereign definitions winding up
And down and undermines your ambitions.
New and old and inventive thoughts…Process.
Simple as just. Simple as in breathing,
In and out your end—from the beginning.