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Taru Marcellus Jan 2013
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
Look up Leo McCarthy especially if you're in high school going to college. He was one of the 2012 CNN Heroes and this poem is dedicated to his daughter Mariah.

Also:
sloth = group of bears
MADD = Mothers Against Drunk Driving
SADD = Students Against Destructive Decisions
Kurt Philip Behm Feb 2018
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls

After Midnight
The bugles will blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know

After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
All tales to reflect

After Midnight
The ticking won’t stop
After Midnight
The bottom has topped

After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known

After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege

After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Last palate uncleft

After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
A star for the dunce

After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell

After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals

After Midnight
The plain and the slack
After Midnight
There’s no turning back

After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn

After Midnight
The wheels bend and turn
After Midnight
Lost vision relearns

After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn

After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow

After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
—new eyes that believe

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Kurt Philip Behm Nov 2018
After Midnight
The narcissists fall
After Midnight
A new lyric calls

After Midnight
Last bugle to blow
After Midnight
There’s more left to know

After Midnight
The lizards collect
After Midnight
Old tales to reflect

After Midnight
The ticking will stop
After Midnight
The bottom will top

After Midnight
A cancerous tome
After Midnight
Malignancy known

After Midnight
Betray and deceive
After Midnight
Alone in the siege

After Midnight
All footsteps fall deaf
After Midnight
Lost palates are cleft

After Midnight
New story to front
After Midnight
Two stars for the dunce

After Midnight
The comets rebel
After Midnight
The coroners yell

After Midnight
A suit made of steel
After Midnight
Its melting reveals

After Midnight
That voice in the back
After Midnight
There’s no turning back

After Midnight
A sacred oath sworn
After Midnight
All memory forlorn

After Midnight
The wheels bend and churn
After Midnight
Lost vision returns

After Midnight
False birth is stillborn
After Midnight
Old vestments are torn

After Midnight
The here and the now
After Midnight
That one sacred cow

After Midnight
Past-Future unseen
After Midnight
  —creation redeemed

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2015)
Tricky whimsical mistress calling cards in effort to ******* all the trades, did you make her hit list? Missed me, you cynical simple hypocrites the dodge got me the **** out of the way and struck mayday with swiftness. Quick kick me out of the prisons for shifty self lifting over barbara’s wired fences, I’m relentless and restless so lets just end this and forget this, I’m angry and after much less friendship than forensics. Automated autopsy for the auto industry, the death of a sales clerk who outta be the enemy but instead we celebrate his tendency to sell his soul for our ovendulgances, Over seven seas of wishy washy tidal waves, all for city crushing some for finding wives, most for breaking levis and I believe all for soaking your leviathan levi’s. Its cool, it only makes them look more vintage. Pay homage to home owners with gun holsters with loose ammo aimed at the abdomen who work there ***** off, to pay for rockets and not blasting off, the thinking cap is off and my gut instinct is locked and loaded up to the pistol pulling motion that my emotions are exploring. Pardon the Patron in my person, I’m all for derooting for the home team version of the underdog under pressure to understand the burden of playing for a chance to play again. Mission accomplished there’s nothing to accomplish, we’ve done it mr. president, now tell me when we can stop it. We’ve lost it, and got not a lot to show for it except some sweet, sea-foam green graffiti on top of your “vote for me” posters. Pose for the camera angle wrangle up your strangle-holds to warm you up, November’s getting cold. And not to be so impolitely impolitical its just unusual how much better I feel with I dissect the system and then die right there with em.
Tricky whimsical mistress distressed she heard from a witness  that some future mother died tonight he stayed inside she took to the SKIES and DOVE, depressed mode impressed himself when he’s alone, he voted for gravity to be the casualty as long as her light was shown. Sown into his baby blanket baby blank face wont take it as well as she did, and she did well. Nah, she did good. Its understood that understatements under estimate the estimated when thrown into a ratio of how far we have and backslash or can go. Oh ego in my hand hold, let go and eat ****, drop far below a parachute and pray for your landing to be tragic. Prisoners, prepare to loot the loose change when theres no more defenses, Cuz when Barbara goes down, as to do her wired fences. The noose hangs delicately on malevolence street across the corner from the coroners office where someone is staring at me, brutally. I pay homage to my hostage holding home-owner hiding the hypocracy of hissing out a nice try. and roll over on the notion of note worthy nihilism he’s a nice guy but we don’t necessarily see eye to eye. Adrenaline you win again you sin sipping sack of lack of sobriety, Don’t cry to me when irony takes out the fight in me, I’ve got my synopsis, its so chaotic that everybody wins.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2018
until they tell you
that the prosthetic limbs
they run on,
can cost you a fortune...
boy racer in a ford
escort,
        or what is otherwise
a pair of crutches
     and a woodpecker
honing device...
          or a carbon fibre
lambhorgini cybornetic
cogitans-extensa
                  "thing" dualism
id est: indistinguishsble...
   the lepers will eat
the lepers,
                       while
the rest of us will shuffle
down the aisles
   of the healthy,  mundane,
grey bulging en masse
demographics,
someday wishing for
a gravestone,
or at least, a return /
revival of the pagan charm
of the ongoing Hinduistic
cremation rite...
   which:
   from the cradle,
snatched from the grave,
and onto the conveyor belt
to save the greenbelt
   industrial choking
    senile, antithesis of
      a once overpowering
                         aphrodisiac...
lucky are those,
who come to the dissection
table of a medical school,
or the coroners'
     taj mahal slab of inquiry,
less ceremonial,
yet hardly shy...
             at least the dead
speak the tongue of the living,
with living who speak
of the dead, in such detail...
     even among those maimed...
some pivot on pinoccios,
others on Charon
limbs... a mind past the flesh,
animating bone...
       no other way, it would seem,
to craft an exoskeleton formula
to an otherwise endoskeletal
"missing umbrella"...
coordination of insect
                               colonies...
                    only at the fingertips
can the brain touch
its "antithesis"...
            elsewhere,
only in muscles a numbing...
              unbelievable how
Descartes is more relevant
than ever...
           past the cute, Mr. Cogito
sequence of Zbigniew Herbert:
     impossible to think,
these days,
   since man in his technological
advancement has become
more and more res extensa
(extended thing) than
res cogitans (thinking thing),
which is best captured by
the slogan: easily offended...
namely the missing cushion
of thought...
   by an large, usurped by man's
advances in the res extensa
branch of being...
          summary: coordination
of traffic, within the confines of
both the regulation of traffic on
pavement and trans-pavement,
compared to motor way regulations,
split-coordinate remainder
of driving a vehicles
and using a mobile device...

       ergo sum
          is virtually non existent in
reformulating Descartes,
       since, as already stated
(in that, typical of philosophy books
style of narrative, id est: tickling
ridicule)...
            man is less a thinking thing,
and more an extended thing,
    
       consecrated on the altar of
lost limbs in the a priori mind of
the endoskeleton, and the regained limbs
in the a posteriori mind of
the exoskeleton...

    after all, mobile phones do not
need copper wires...
     wireless C U 2;

and they'll say, stale books of philosophy
and drinking alone,
are a waste of writing
a good bookmark,
     in between overcoming
a tedius volume 1. of a historical
novel... from a region of Europe,
that woken from beneath
Iron... looks upon...
   less a valley, and more another,
this time, Si curtain.

they always want socialists from
places where 20th century socialism
failed...
      odd, but not that odd...
people just want to commit to
hindsight, in that:
      the easy way out,
2nd tier, of the same, mistakes.
mike Dec 2013
your father is a morbid man puddy. .. . but morbid can be good if you accept it...
..how can it be good?idunnoimnotmakinganysense............   ..  ..    .well.   i guess if youre in the right mood or in the right setting.(i pictured people. a woman mainly. with dark hair. and everyone had glasses of red wine and were laughing in a short hysterical way. and i realize these people arent representations of people ive seen act like this, theyre representations of me. i kno that feeling which makes that laugh. when hearing stories or seeing pictures or videos of people dying suddenly or getting tortured and the abuser maybe dismembering himself or herself after or committing an interesting suicide which we love to hear about and the sickening brutality and pain and fear and cringing you feel is instantly replaced with a swift too swift and sharp laughter. and these stories are real, otherwise its just silliness or boys being boys with their sick imaginations and saying it just for attention or to be funny or weird.. and we all might question ourselves slightly but either Time or Exposure to the Wicked World or most likely the validation of our indecencies with everybody else's  because its a whole room laughing lets us feel better about it each time but then more ashamed of our withering virtue until we forget. and something to understand from the remark "but either Time or Exposure to the Wicked World or most likely the validation of our indecencies" ad its there is no difference in this matter between the options 2 and 3 because we are the Wicked World. and all 3 are just things we waste. and if not laughing sharplyand loud and insane maybe some of us are at least being entertained while wailing in a definite cringe or exasperation or i dont kno but it is blended with the jovial air of the room. and people and family members laugh with and comfort and joke with eachother like a pride or a flock or any group of animals showing their young 'here.its ok.its an apple. you can touch it. it wont hurt you. its our food.' but we say "c'mere, the foundation of this world and all its agony will rip you apart, so here, learn how to find joy in it otherwise youll be too effected and will need to be discarded from normal happy people who kno their happiness comes first. because thats how we work as people and as a group. now here, have a drink. we pretend it helps and seek it out against our better judgment because we dont want to exist because weve become nothing in place of the wide range of terrible emotions we should experience when seeing the world for what it is.. ourselves most of all." and i guess that is what i pictured. the average happy people. family people. nice house and aunts and christmas people. and i kno im biased but nothing in this imagery matters. i was supposed to capture just the thoughts which i actually spoke to myself or my dog or whoever but now i have a brick-sized moving picture of my interpretation of happy family americans and other nations and just everybody.  but im no different. deep down anyway. deep down i am selfish and scared and come to the conclusion that the world is too complicated to be fixed and were too dumb to fix it reguardless and more so we are filled with souls which shift too often which we must only watch drift away moment to moment leaving us with many things but definitely a healthy amount of selfishness and, well, psychology i guess. we can figure our race and ourselves out as much as is possible and maybe even be right about some things, but knowing what drives us and feeling compelled are unrelated. too constant of a shift are we to be anything describable in correct terms and too unknown is the future to kno wut form our shift could bring us to. ..this is all absolute nonsense. i started rambling world. u gave me a mouth and i started rambling with it. i am definitely equal to a baby human or animal just shrieking into the world because, well just because its alive. so im a baby with no way of managing my existence other than making sounds because there are ears everywhere and peeing where i lay because its inside of me then it comes out because im unaware of my functions and we all send scattered unfinished nonsense to eachother and they send their own version of it back to the human and we manage to make ourselves sick and destroy our home and we're like an ant colony with no coordination.) and then something about laughter is sometimes a coverup for discomfort, so laughing from something morbid is not good. but then again it is still a laugh, and wut is the point system for laughing goodness and thats it the end jesus christ stop. *******. later. txt me wenever. have fun at ur party. i hope the weathers nice up north and not too cold cuz i kno u hate the cold. and im probably a boring **** saying cheezy things trying to act natural and nice and caring but i have my own agenda and am too unnaware to kno that and therefore will never be able to change for the better because i am a stupid human who thinks they have something figured out about every moment of every day but cant really do anything. cant see myself how others see me and cant feel the right way ong enough to accept it and constantly contradicting my conceptual and moral and spiritual universe and will never realize that 99.9 percent of the time my thoughts are of things like rocks and puffy things and shooting myself in the head and im hungry and **** that ***** and... im such a loser. if i dont start acting and living like a straight shooter my only outcome down the road will be lonelyness, heartbreak. regret. shame. and many other bad things where everything i love is either ded or has abandoned me because i am now a man and there is no such thing as abandoning a man but i am alone and want to die and i do. i **** myself and im ded. and there is no heaven and i have no soul and no one knows im ded and the passerbys and police officers and coroners who kno that im ded dont kno my name. so everyone i ever loved who havent loved me for years will die years down the road with families who love them and i will never cross their minds again. and i will deserve it. and i will pray for satan to devour my flesh and feel a demon inhabit my body along with my terror.
Mitchell Aug 2013
Strange
How when all is going
According to
Plan

The record stops in spin
Clouds turn to black
And the round back straightens

I'm awake here
Seeing bare
Attending to cares
But unfulfilled

There is a liar amongst us
She smells of raw fibs
I run my palm
Across my bare chest
Feeling ribs

We are bones
And meat
With a mind we can never fully

Control

A mystery
To myself

Born again
Dying again

Re-living
Nothing

Attending
To
No one

There's a white envelope on the nightstand
With a sum of unmentionable dreams and desires
The shelf stands *****, but I am crooked
Burning a candle in the twilight of midnight
Reminds me that a gift is also fire

And then there is the fact of movement
Evolutions only prime device
There are no tricks
There are no riddles
There is nowhere you can tinker or fiddle

Overtime, we only get better

Move her
Admit him
See that I
Am inside every syllable
Etching a private universe
To perfection so whomever
May choose to enter
May re-live and experience

Matters of Heaven and Hell

Closed off
Sending smoke signals
To
Irritable Gods

Bunk beds with religion
We amass our hatred
For one another

Then play chess with jazz playing in the background

Red oyster shell wrapped around
A ghost white finger
Music tiptoes under my doorway
And the mailman is late with my paycheck

When I worked
As a paperboy
I enjoyed
Riding the bus to school

Because of late night snacking
I now have anxiety
About free breakfast luncheons

A next step for mankind
Seems like a lot of work
And very little pay off for the rest of us

Why are buses designed so poorly
And have no Maximum Occupancy?

Say goodbye to late night friendship
With snapskypefaceinternaboutfacecreditreport.com

She moved her hand
Over her eyes to block out
The sun. The brightness
Comforted her, but, being
An only child, she disapproved
Of anything resembling comfort.

A new noon is upon us
I speak for anyone with a pulse
A new moon has arisen
Any speakers of tongues shows false

Anonymous fortunes
Have arisen between the black and white
Bed sheets are randomly bursting into flames
And grandma weeps regularly

When love dissolves
Like the first fog of dusk,
The sun burning through
Mists futile efforts to shroud we dead men,
Put your ear to the ground
Hold to not make a sound

Witness the frost break
As the business men cut their steaks
See the poor out on the gutter
The addict trip and sputter
Change is not around the corner
The lies are as thin as the coroners smile

This kind of place
Smells of dry skin and regret
Dead brush and a unforgiving sun
Love takes off
Its always on the run

Sometimes
I don't know the difference
Between me and you
Sometimes
You try to tell me something
That I know just isn't true

White cut on the hem of her dress
She says something to me
But I can already tell that she's in distress

"Let me in your taxi," she squealed,
The bangs of her hair bouncing over her face,
"I'll tell yah something. I'll show yah' some lace."
I opened the door with a stone hand
And as she sat next to me I looked over
To see she was holding a beat up tomato paste can

Whispers of truths only turn into bigger lies
A butler coughs as he adjusts his tie
"The body needs to be washed up around the thigh,"
It explained, a shadow under each of the mans eyes
"There is no instrument man can trust to rely,
Other then that of God and his belief in the upside."

A road
Dispelled

A life
Cut short

A boat
Drfiting
Into Port

At last the fog has burned away
So we can decide
Whether you go or you stay
Alessander Jul 2016
Your childhood dream
Your teenage dream
Your 20s dream
Your 30s dream
Your 40s dream
Your 50s dream

Measure them in decades
Transfixed before a distorted hall of mirrors

A cycling fun-house

While presidents come and go
Parachute pants, bomber jackets, bangs

When you’re drifting off to sleep
What feeling awakens in your heart?

What small feet run across your translucent landscapes
Cubists blocks of what might have been

Twisting , reforming…, parallax

Like Etcher in motion, Inception

Dark cities floating overhead while eclipses burn red

Do your hands tremble with rage or with despair?

Or do you lie perfectly still, resigned

Practicing for your casket

Selfies of your head sinking into starched pillows

You’re responsible now

Clerks and coroners pat you on the back

The least you can be is responsible

Hunting down dreams in dreary forests
With bow knives and bandanas

Is foolish

Better to fill out your W2s

Calculate your interest and help with homework

Don’t be selfish


Let others burning with madness, desire and discontent

Dream for you

Shape the future for you

Preferable to be content

An anti-pioneer   To Nest in paperclips and razors

Satisfied with consolation prizes, Ms. Congeniality

To sink silently down the toilet of trivialities
Floating listlessly like a ****
Flushed out into the polluted ocean of time

But let us not dwell on dreams

Let us drill, let us dance, let us down

Korean BBQ and snap-shot sunsets

Never mind the shadows swirling

Through you, deepening with every tock

Civilization calls  - You must be integrated.

Not like days of yore

On the hunt

But wrenched into a mechanical maelstrom

Input into a coded vision

An alien incubator zooming through metallic tubes


You are an app

Of Aborted dreams

Of pragmatic passiveness
  

Fingered by millions of strangers

To **** time and hope
whatever comes to mind

#
Mitchell Jun 2011
Either the black balloon of your tune has popped
Or our love has taken a turn for the worst n' stopped
Either the night bird has gone deaf n' struck dumb
Or our love is no longer light and ain't worth the sum
I'm seeing the sure tell signs as I step away
Some day I hope I remember the way we were sweet May
Plainly the particulars were paraphrased oh so poorly
Written in black scribbles as I scratched myself with rusted thimble
I reached inside with a hidden pride
But retrieved empty parcels shattered into morsels
Neither the night knows me nor the sun which hangs high
You were the one I needed even though I at times did despise
The paths of ours were marked from the start
Like a captain at sea standing naked in the dark
See the hot wheel disillusioned defeatist unbuckling his gun
Hear the wind when the thing used to be young
A young woman with your heart never turns out to be much fun
I took a step in the right direction
And looked up to the sign which pointed broken n' sore
My eyes pinched in a ten second cinch
And when I made out the letters lined in black as crow
They read "Anywhere is where yah' need to go"
Cat whisker rustles during the midnight hustle
Of the mad hatter heroines and fire men who can't stay sane
Each store front is filled with the finest of the modern wares
When you look at me don't you know that you stare?
Upstairs the bed boards don't creak when you speak
With magic and morose you can tell yourself honestly
There ain't no place else to live except with Her majesty
Stuck in a moment that I can't seem to want to live without
I sit down alone in the crowded bar room to order a stout
To the left of me is a women entranced by another man's stance
And to the right of me is a crumbling bumbling bitter romance
Either I'm in the right place and I am home at last
Or I better stand up and get outta' here fast
So the hours that past weren't ever mine to for see
And the past is just another kind of disease
I guess the talk is never better then the walk
And the voices that whisper in tight alley corners
Are truly meant to be sheathed and tagged by the coroners
Sit near the clock to hear the bartender pant n' heave
The sight of his fear is something you wouldn't ever believe
The way he washes ever glass as if he's pulling the mast
With ten nickels and thirty cigarettes you'd think he'd never bicker
Dear angel neat easy winged and breathing
Fly through my window tonight
I'll read from atop this tree just you an' me
Right through the twilight which Heaven has even caught sight
Please don't smile for I know that you think this is a joke
I'll tie the knot if I'm lying and I'll even buy the rope
bluejam Jun 2010
An old friend left town today
The conveyance was his favorite handgun
After departing he placed the gun next to his body
On the other side of his body was an empty whiskey bottle
The coroners report said, “Cause of Death – Desire to visit other planes of existence”

The local paper said he was a strange genius tangled up in complicated metaphor
The underground papers all said he found a ticket and decided to use it
I figure he decided he had told everyone here about his sad loneliness and
Thought new ears might be needed to bring fruit to his suffering
Even if he didn’t know what the ears would look like

My friend left behind millions of words written over decades in an attempt
To explain his sudden departure
I found it odd that in the opening word of his first poem I saw the answer
That opening word was “She”…
What followed was a lifetime of goodbyes written and published with love
It is time to sit out on the dock.

A flash, just under the surface, and
Reddened faces are frantic again,
Focused on fishing out that rare specimen.
A fillet of words will simmer above the fire, tonight.

Did you mimic famous styles,
Or make lightning a memory?
Have you added new layers of brick
Atop the older ones?
If you’re inspired, will you write it down?
Did you hum atop the mountain’s side,
Or summit the crests in time?
Did you get lost around kaleidoscopic corners?
If you did, don’t worry.
Coroners will make you look nice.

Do you want a gravestone when you die?
Will your last thoughts be for our country?
Is your blood red?
Is your paper white?
Is your ink blue?
Does your pen beg to bleed through sheets?
Will you remember what teachers said?
If you did,
Will it matter?
If you didn’t,
I hope that you brought a tape-recorder.
ShamusDeyo Dec 2014
Spewed out, the Pain,  the Shock, the Awe
To hear things never Heard and see things never Saw
The overwhelming light, that falls within my sight
Colors Never seen, and the mystery of the Word
Its only been moments, but I feel so Free and light
As flesh has Fallen away to create this birth...

To think only 72 hours ago, cold and still, I were
In the Coroners Office on a Slab in the morgue
Embowled for the autopsy on a Routine report
The Car Ran the Stop Sign, doing near Ninety
the Glare of the Lights, The Last thing I could See
But its all over, the weight is gone and now I'm free.....JMF 12/11/2014
A Fatal twist of misdirection
Dedicated to My Fascination with Alfred Hitchcock

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Mitchell Mar 2011
I still got my heart in my pocket
And that same old locket
Yeah the one with the scratch on the back
Now I know that's a ******* fact

The skies are burning red tonight
And I can't seem to see right
Where you are I can only guess to God
Now I'm feeling heartbroken and oh' so small

There's that guy with the fat left eye
The one I punched last night for stealing my pie
Oh there's that guy with the fat left eye
I see him staring at your locket, whata' guy

The curbs are burning red with hate on every corner
The morgues are getting full with weary coroners
Were left here on this place without a clue where to go
Buy your ticket, rip your stub, enjoy the ride

And hell lingers round' me as I walk along alone
A sin in every mailbox, a catch in every mitt
Sailing in my car with the windows down just a crack
A lady last night she wished to give me a smack

Heave away those lofty regrets that you never met
Their weights in pasts that can be lost quite fast
Look ahead to the greater beyond
The last mountain to be seen will hold your song
ishaan khandpur May 2016
A witchers walk,
On the sleepless hollow,
I did bring to you.
On a long dark trail,
In the middle of the night,
When you thought me done and through.

A simple spell,
In a simpler way,
I did cast on you.
The word for which,
No mortal can sing,
Without a pensive groove.

LOVE is simply,
A wonderful thing,
Like bees and bears and schools.
LOVE is simply,
An immaculate thing,
Like a coroners sheet and tools.

LOVE flowers,
In a meadow of despair,
Everytime I see you.
LOVE flows,
Like a poisoned Sake
That insanity sees through.

So in my spell,
Forever you'll stay,
Eternity will pass through.
In a glance,
Without your will,
I'll forever be with you.
Poetic T May 2017
The praise of reflections were
but a mirage of recommended
                                          echoes fading.

That collected in the coroners,
that praised the failings of empty
                                         glorified nothingness
vhcgjhf Jul 2015
we haunt outmoded roach motels
tacky hermit-drab shells
ready to burst

in all the random, lonely corners of the universe

and coroners
wander stodgy corridors
and remote old waysides

as we rot,
filling the ground's vacancies

tangled up and diaphanous
flaring up in the wind and burning

the godhead ached
and his stomach growled
and time had ran its course
as we wandered next door

left to idle, awkwardly
to savor the flowing ennui

in dirtied decorum
fearful, molten paradoxes
waxing ecstatically
at the moment

our distance dangled in spacetime
it was plastered on the front window
of the dusty, remote, old dollar store

on crabgrass he fell
Charlie horses galloped, tenants of seashells cried out
as it was always much easier to recite
dull, signifying nothing
while determining everything

we're wandering, bleary-eyed individuals
in the loneliest location in existence

relinquished in internal fisticuffs
crumpling the paperthin walls, as the
****** of a moving tire whines outside
and the living backdrop blurs, falls away
and the universe hastily reroutes itself
love on your lips
like Novocain
we speak the words,
feel nothing.
we smile and laugh,
the coroners dance
the smell of death
it lingers

breathing shadows
burning tributes
to the idols
that they worship
And you wonder
why my evenings are better spent alone.

I live.
I bleed.
I'm on my ****** knees
I break.
I cry.
I fall.
I fly.

you've already died.
you breathing shadow.
A few days
Every few weeks,
These scars speak to me
From the heart,
Broken not by love,
But for life
Extended.

The surgeon's knife
Xacted a reprieve
From end untimely
To new beginning.

And time's no longer
An orphan ignored
But the treasured child,
Finite virtue extolled;

Like the mariner of truth,
She lies on wings
Of fate;

Bypassing clots
And coroners;

That scars might speak to me
A few days more,
Every few weeks.

~ P
(#ScarWars)
12/19/2015
I would too if I was going to
and maybe I might,
decisions
discretely revised,
actions amplified
and
I could have died,

magnified at the end
through the coroners
lens
and penned in ink
I think
or stencil
DOA,

The fallacy that worries me
is
work sets you free
and that
bothers me that it
worries me.

Friends comfort me through the difficult times
as the wage slip slips into my unconsciousness
and I am no less for that, but no more of this,
self pity is the fools curse,
the silken sow or the pigs purse
either one will do

I would if I was going to anyway.

In response to what the hell is this about
I don't know either.
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2019
the future changing the past
          Westminster Abbey Mass
                 she was a grand wee lass ...


                          silent prayers
zora Jun 2018
my body is a crime scene
snaked up from behind me, a man slits my tongue
tells me god knows i sinned
tells me god made him sin

but there are no coroners here
the detectives mother the sidewalk
they don't dare cross over to me
they expel my lungs and call to me
they tell me to breathe

he's gone now
but i'm still here
i'm still here
i'm still here
"So there's this guy right hahaha and he takes a selfie with my kid while the mom's turning the kid against me right??? So I confronted the gentlemen nicely and quoted "So you takin' a selfie with my kid?" And he responded "Yeah, ***** so what I'm his daddy now"...so after he said that I reached in the trunk of my Tahoe and got this nice wooden duct taped bat...and then I try to get a response out of him but I couldnt hear him over crying and the bashing of my Louisville Slugger hahaha...rest well ***** rest well in hell
Never **** with my kids ever and the police can come to they'll catch these sluggers as well...but I wanna apologize for not killing you the right army way hoooooah you *****........"

Now that my homie got my back quick to jack
This ***** ***** how you figure you can step to an OG ****** is phony
In this game **** shame light a flame
To a cigarette makin' silohuette to those that try to threat
My gun range sicked sadistic head twisted
Like a pretzel a ****** pass homicidal strikes brainwaves like a tidal
Layin' dead as the videos go viral spiral
Into another dimension you see my demons lynching
Guillotine heads for no bread love of the bloodshed
Even though they all dead my tactics vulture bred
Everything you red is classified to the Feds
But leechers get beatdown instead slick as Fred
Dawn of the dead til the day I wed
Death as my wife no live boundaries unbounded
Wisdom profounded yo CM I see youll die drowning
Playin' tricks but I ain't clowning Strong grounding
Artillery grunt catchin' the pounding
As patrol ya destiny as a rover
Soon to crossover No love for this ***** *** brother so I'll bash his head in with my gat and my other slugga *****


Yo i got sick ****** on my mind nine times outta nine suckas who step outta line ?
Touchin' on the flat line with a broken spine cuz I'm
Crazy in the membrane take a snort of the cane
Or Mary Jane things ain't the same
Its Killed or be killed bodies chill once I  lay my picture reel
Flashin' signs of ****** eyes saprized
By my guns that rise blazin' like a fire clench to pliers
Clutching your heart the higher
The rate gets I'm standing over tall  mauled soldiers
I been to iraq so I'll flex the gat black gloves with no love heart made of stone put my bone
In ya momma ***** ***** stepping to my kindred
That's a no go open up ya sand capsule
I'm here to baffle til ya shells crackles  welcome to hell's tabernacle suicidal mission crazy jackal quick to axe you
Watch ya body hiccup and blood spit up
All over the concrete floor I adore war and many more
Have no fear once get a taste of ya fear year after year
My Panthers instincts creep slow so stay low
When I'm aimmin' my pistol led extended til ya flat like a dull pencil now the coroners stenciled ya body no other prefered the gat over my louisville slugga
R Oct 2015
10w
I wish I were the one on the coroners table.
I'm going to go see an autopsy tomorrow.
Can't wait.
Looking at people these days seems that lost astray soon to be taken away
On another plane metaphysically somehow I see their mentality manifest to me to see the enemy
Sunshine comes not long after the rain I'm deadly as Wayne shot gun flow to your brain I'm close like on you like a shadow check the plateaus
People love to stand on fake champion love to be Don's it ain't no fun
When you get caught dead in your lie I can see the frustration in ya eyes thinking of ways to untie
The sticky situation thinking of a stimulation to provoke and altercation
You see me I'm chillin' in the mind of Kemet if you see me lonely it's only because my hearts in it now you done did it
Everyday they wake up plotting another scheme up to pile up
But I see the cup runneth up  
Crossover mean as a Dober
Man Pinscher throw bars harder than pitchers you try to swing in you'll strike out lights out now get the coroners running out to tuck you into
A final resting bed nothing else said
Slow rise with dough call it bread thorough head talking to liars is like communicating with the dead
It's not them!!!
Tom Shields Aug 2020
Striped to the nines
these cats carry pig stickers
animal kingdom death comes quicker
shoeshine, no sunshine, grease ain’t slicker
chalked out in lines
lead bellies line mines
outlaws make laws, break jaws
drop jaws, buy cars, bank rob
live like all-stars, a full-time job
all-grime, an all-crime job
a romantic era of terror
splashy ink does injustice
while they sidle Fords with Thompsons
every John a Dillinger, every Romeo a Clyde
everybody comes to terms with hunger and iron
everybody comes to town either starry or steely eyed
they leave or stay forever, never rich enough to justify why these are the streets they had to die on
it ain’t pretty
black eyed beauties and black tied beaus
lies as easy as blood when the liquor flows
guns and love and money, everybody knows
it’s all business, question contracts and the details get gritty
you can get in clean
but you have to get your hands ***** in this city.


A blues musician blew through the nightclubs with his sound
the rhythm of struggle, poetry and soul come alive
one with his voice, his guitar, singing of how he strived
to make it to the bright lights, he thought it was a miracle he survived
songs of Southland and heartache, the sounds of a segregated culture thriving above ground
what scratch he could collect
he would make if he had to play until he broke his guitar’s neck
wise enough to only accept cash up front, no checks
he was not ashamed of a spotlight
a bluesman can’t be afraid
he tore down the house six nights
and on Sunday he prayed
when he heard his music on the radio, riffs and lyrics ripped and splayed
the mournful soul, howling moon, woeful pontifications and rhythms all butchered onto a premier
a darker, sadder set of eyes than he had ever seen fell back on him from his own rearview mirror
outside of a studio, champagne bottles broken on his back for white rock and roll
at some hour when the sun was too far to imagine rising
he found himself peering over the edge of a darkness in his soul
and the liberating relief was frightening, he wanted to force it to feel surprising
a brown neck and a half ago he traded his first guitar, offered to sign it, too
pawnbroker bought it off him for a bill or two, said “Why, who are you?”
He swapped for a pistol under-the-counter and the bullets
bought a couple bottles of liquid encouragement to help him think it through
he drove out to the record label where the thief was lauded on the air
sitting is his car with his last guitar, barrel scratching his head, parting his hair
he was half-awake, about to leave when he saw four people walking out of there
a quick release, trigger, clutch and gas, the conspirators who stole his soul collapsed,
he drove into town to sell it back one piece at a time just as fast.


Putty in palms
men melt in her gaze
Medusa couldn’t ****** a man as easily
Penny flies with fancy and never stays
she was the high school sweetheart, girl next door,
to the star quarterback, to the class president, who fought viciously over her
who were sidetracked brawling while she was romanced by promises of city life
which swept her off the suburban sidewalk, and deposited her in a diner
where a man would come to blows over her, promising to make her his wife
she led men to collide with one another, they called her the Lucky Penny
she loved the attention, flirtatious eye-batting and men being reduced to fools
it was nothing shy of flattery, her chest felt empty without superficial value
and what is a better showing of what you’re worth than what someone else is willing to do to someone else to keep you?
She never really cared beyond the surface for any of them at all,
until, of course, she was ensnared herself by becoming a moll
Penny would only go steady with someone as beautiful as she was,
this invited trouble to her diner, because
a pretty-boy gangster oversaw collections in the area, just as handsome, just as clean
every bit as petty as Penny, twice as angry, twice as spiteful, and twice as mean
he carried a switchblade knife, a jackboot blade, he would love an excuse to cut ribbons out of skin
he had the sharps in spades, sharp wits, looks, angles, and cuts, when they met Penny was already done in
pretty boy promised her the moon, gave her a pad, he made sure she stayed living in the lap of luxury as long as it was his lap, and she’d never step out of line after the first time he got mad
she was number three in a marriage, in over her head and scared for her life
Penny, the apple of every man’s eye, a prisoner, mistress, and second to a mafia wife.

Ruthless killers aren’t these snarling giants
they’re scrawny, little, barbed wire, white men
capable of extreme and unconscionable acts of violence
you never see them until it’s too late for status quo, still water silence
deeper though, you never know, a gun is just bamboo, a ball and black powder, light it
your next-door neighbor could be the next news-maker, a headline teenager
used to be you’d never know somebody got shot if they popped 911 on your personal pager
the world isn’t spinning any faster, but these gray matters will age ya,
I say, going postal isn’t even a clever turn of phrase yeah?

Sunup in the city, Chicago typewriters were dogearing a page in history
like firecrackers going off just before dawn, you could see them from a sky penthouse
the locations of every execution, it wasn’t a mystery
a plan went off without a hitch, an overtaking in the criminal industry
you can say it, business is booming
body-bags went out by the half dozen to a dozen spots, by noon sirens were still zooming
out of precincts, hearses and coroners, ambulances and firetrucks, police too
it wasn’t a warzone, it was a crime scene, every block everywhere, put tape around the whole county
you could bring every citizen in as a witness, they’d probably all have a statement, it was anarchy,
an entire organization was weeded out and killed, with efficient brutality, and get this, no payment offered up for a revenge bounty
nobody retaliated, they were emasculated, eviscerated, devastated and decapitated, nobody knew who held the keys to the city, but we knew to revere the new monarchy
and for months there was humidity so thick it made me sweat through my collar, an air of anxiety
terror is what you don’t know, can’t understand, aren’t able to feel, hear, or even see…


So, I’ll put a bomb in the mail, watch his face turn pale, stand outside the window
make his wife a widow, I’m not settling for the ironic justice he doled out
my life wasn’t nothing, but now it’s always something, ever since I sold my route
a job in this town is a weapon in the wrong hands, if you work for good folks, you’ll be met with injust demands
I delivered payroll for a law firm, took an armored van and stuck to plans
making sure paralegals and secretaries and partners see their paychecks, private sector, shotgun overhead on the rack, nine-millimeter on my side, and rifle in the back
same three to a car, I always drive, if you’re gonna hit us in broad daylight, it’s gotta be on Monday when we’re fully loaded, as we cross this bridge and you better promise we all stay alive
I get my cut, a quarter million, a Judas’ fee to guarantee the financial security of my family and we’ll be packing live rounds if you think of double crossing me, for our own safety
that day hits, we come across the bridge to a traffic stop
I was sweating bullets, my partner rolled down the window to talk to the cop
an accident ahead, then a sudden, deafening pop
now I feel the adrenaline flood, my face is covered with my friend’s blood
I’m kicking at the door, a ricochet bites my ear, I think my head is gone
but even if I’m dead I’m still running for dear life, I’m going on
I hear screaming, automatic gunfire, he’s shooting, taking them out with him,
he’s dying, I’m ripping my uniform off and ducking out, half-blind, the lights get dim
it’s days later, I’m contemplating the darkest things I’ve ever thought, outside a ***** cop’s residence
I’ve barely eaten, I’ve barely thought of anything except tracking this heist crew down, and now I’m showing hesitance
I’ve followed them since that day, I know this is it, they’re all inside, four bad men got rich and two good men died
one coward allowed it to happen, I’m gripping my sidearm, they won’t strip me of my pride, I don’t need any evidence
He kicks the door in, gun drawn on four men, their families just outside, seconds tick away, sweat drips, feet sway, chairs slide and casings clatter, he serves up an equalizer on a platter, that day it’s not a blue matter, it’s a blood splatter, eight dead, four thieves and three collateral, with a lone gunman at the heart of it all.

Fisticuffs always calls up a type of fighter, former priors
agents looking at delinquency like juvenile homes are boxing regency
adopt a son, own a slave, train him to fight for his home and do it all legally
coattail riding, meal ticket punching, a prizefighter raised from adolescence
to do one thing as soon as he enters a ring, turn lights out, win a money bout, leave opponent with no recollections
a colored boxer, killing competition in a record winning Olympic position
never shies away from trouble he tucks his chin and takes it double
always looking on the uppercuts, combinations break safes, open faces and break up guts
a contender for a spot, he’s dreamt of this, he’d give everything he has now away for this shot
it’s a chance at a chance, the only one he’s got
he loves his foster father and his foster mother and it feels like they’ve worked to give him a lot
sitting front row in reserved seats, while ten rounds pass,
his brain rattles in his skull, while they eat popcorn and sit on their ***
hands trembling in his gloves, slumped in the corner, cut the swelling eyes to let him see
he is dying ninety seconds at a time, how long can he last?
His masters don’t stand unless he falls, their love is slavery
these gloves that keep his hands in fists are new cuffs, they contain him, set him free!
He spits blood on the mouthguard, leaves his teeth on the mat, presses off on his knuckles and clears the ten count with the referee
eyes like a monster, he finally snapped, and wore the leather out
he proved his love was stronger than anyone and anything,
by beating his opponent into a fatal coma, in twelve rounds, blood pooled at silent spectator’s feet, as he continued to swing
it was an undercard they never forgot when he went back to prison and left it all in the ring.

Terror is what you don’t know, can’t understand, aren’t able to feel, hear, or even see
and for months I dreamt of what I saw that day with no lucidity
I was locked down in the tragic relivings of a marred, scarred up, firebomb charred memory
they look for the truth in their ink, why does that burden fall on me?
All I am is all I could ever be!
Dogged, **** tired, I put a cigarette out on my arm to see if I’m awake sometimes
sometimes I do it to see if I’m alive, after bearing witness to fresh hell, in some crimes
investigative journalism, my life’s work, it’s all dirt
digging for one breathtaking coffin, until my lungs hurt
it’s misery in a city of misgivings on loop for eternity
they know no one can stomach the bottom; even the bottom falls out
and the bowels and the guts spit up their disgust, the bile discussed their vile supremacy in doubt
but the duty still lands in my lap and I carry it readily if wearily
a good deed is unheard of, which is why the death of all factions
all fractions of crime, all at one time, all one action done on a dime, is killing me
I know there’s something more behind it all, that kind of slaughter would take an army
where does it begin, who’s covering up, lying and playing pretend, where does one thread stop when another one ends?
Am I standing in a web or a noose?
Am I cutting through a conspiracy or am I cutting myself loose?
I feel as if I’m suspended by my own suspicion!
I am lost and I’ve been more directly involved, more focused on a mission!
There are laughs in the walls of motels where I stay,
when I take my pills and check out for the night they giggle “Have a nice day!”
I’m sure of nothing, why do I know there must be foul play!
The streetsweepers must have an agenda, they must profit in some way
but they don’t come out of the woodwork to claim any coercion or pay
any heroics or fame, if any figurehead stood behind them, that person stands at bay
while I wait with bated breath, knowing one thing of murderers who achieve a getaway
that they either are assured of success enough to retire, or to attempt a grander feat of death…

Once an aging prima donna fell upon a spotlight
with all the natural talent of the charismatic, valorous and gallant, a comet in the starlight
she could sing and act and dance and grant wishes with magic if directed so
so, she was a child when she graced stages with her presence every night
crushing the pressure of performances that sink politicians by the sheer size
she could captivate and entertain, dazzle, razzle, sizzle, and shock a crowd
ahead of her time and curb and curtain, her cast and calling, producers she seemed to hypnotize
evoking the ire of every other actress, singer, dancer and magic woman living loud
she burst with color onto silver screens and took the world that was hers by any means, the masses she could mesmerize
even in black in white they fell in love with the gaze of her baby blue eyes
and the only thing to slow or stop this comet’s meteoric rise
was time, she was too old for the parts they wanted every woman for,
tapdancing and vaudeville, lounge singing and musicals, from the ivory tower to the first floor,
an aging prima donna, who would never want to play a bit role or a fill a hole well, she was a goner
she wanted to trailblaze, turn these old ways into new days
and she only needed new opportunities, a chance to shine in her advanced age
for the elderly actress desired to perfect an archetype in drama, beginning with one screenplay page
she wrote herself a major part, around the central cast, so the young talent could shine in the brighter lights, while she would create a legacy to outlast
and they look for her today in her films and wonder what changed to make it so,
that the energetic and happy woman lost all her glow, to go and wither into shadows where she would play the crone and cantankerous, conniving, lonely gypsy or old widow.

In a new era, a new form, the prizefighter came back, weathered the case
five to ten
years off the prime of his career
militant Islamic conversion in the joint, scowl permanently on his face
disowned his adopted home, disemboweled his circle to scorch earth for some personal space
and worked harder to prove he deserved to earn the boxing commission’s good grace
got his boots back on, never out of shape, kept them laced
older and slower, but stronger than ever, a lifestyle change is a new pace
he met a new agent, a man with his true interests at heart, cross it and hope
he’s representing the same faith, referral by a cellmate, representing the same race
he’s educated and well-dressed, his lawyers got lawyers who all send money upriver
so why would he ever sell a fighter downstream? He’s all about one color, one power
the power is cash and the color is green! He’s selling prizefighting like a butcher sells liver
looking at his prime killer like he’s working by the hour, like the man has never been here
he’s lost speed, gained mass, sore in the bones from time’s past and passed in the joint, he’s one night away from an official anoint-
meant, appointment with the king, a racial salesman who takes advantage of the divide to provide a talking point with his melanin
when he doesn’t care, he doesn’t even see people before him as more than cattle or less than human
and with every victory he’s seeing clear, the field he’s standing in is tall grass
he’s struggling to see the path he walked in on, but he’s got to keep burning through the gas
promotion, fight, rounds of blood and sweat, hand held high, interview gab, it’s not over yet
locker room politics, agents and deals, brands and lawyers and contracts, contacts, pagers and producers, politicians and televisions and business meals
he’s got a clear role on only one side of things, that’s why he lets the bird out of the cage because money talks and sometimes ******* sings
but when it comes down to trimming the fat, he earns his living in training and between the ropes in how he lives and how he wins when he swings
and he goes out with a record of sixty fights with eight losses and no contest, one of the most controversial champs to duke it out in those rings.

That they either are assured of success enough to retire, or to attempt a grander feat of death
I swear to ******* God I’m being followed ever since I left the last spot, it’s like the city knows I’ve been holding my breath
it started choking me, hands wrapped around my neck, I’m cut off from my office I can’t even cash a field check, I left my kids in the separation, this story is it, I don’t have nothing left
I’m chasing lights where there’s only flickering projectors, looking for the big picture at the point of origin
it’s never going to reveal itself to me, I hear the voices of professors trampling my voice again
the streets don’t just open up and take every killer, thief and ****** back, every assault charge and corrupt landlord, cop, lawyer and councilman
all the big fish swam away after the attack, like rats on a sinking barge, it’s their word full stop, against the everyman
but if the system breaks down at the point of their cogs, the people who do their ***** work, and witnesses all suddenly outnumber them with righteous indignation, armed and willing to catch a case then…
Who’s going to be left to clean up after that?
Three days, five days, eight, fully awake with the full realization, a health hazard with walls where I sat
the story of the century in my lap, I looked like warm crap, like something the buildings and streets formed teeth to chew up in their maw and back out they spat
figures not even the bones of this old gal would like the flavor of an emissary to the truth
I rattled my fist to the ceiling on the ninth day, kicked a rat of my mattress, pulled the story off my typewriter, and muttered “Let’s see how they like that!”
for the first time I saw daylight, I saw a kid standing outside waiting to rob me, hand in his pocket, he cocked a hammer and told me to drop it,
I stood frozen, sure everything was true if they were waiting to stop it going through the presses, I was ready to die when an old man came by, chased him off with a cane and yelled “Stop it!”
this boy dropped two rocks he clicked together to make a gun noise in his coat and ran, I was stunned and I just studied the face and thanked God for the old man
I interviewed him, a source for my civilian militia, and next week I was in a real bed in my apartment when they ran the issue.

Many months ago, something crazy happened, our family had a tight net over the whole city then it snapped and
lieutenants, enforcers, soldiers all turned on each other on the orders of opposing captains
we turned to our cops, sergeants and detectives, turns out their own were capped before then
cops were ******* with corruption and a lone gunman who hit their families and crossfire killed three kids, four men, rich thieves died poor men,
every single lawyer and city politician at that time was locked up with all eyes on the boxing commission and a homicide spree tied to a ******’ blues musician
it was like all the focus left and they let clowns just step in, meanwhile we were undermined by our own kind, greedy backstabbers and
they cost us the whole operation, cannibal rats, growing fat off our own hind end
in the confusion every two-bit hood and crook, every able-bodied gun and ******, every veteran and rookie, all the way from the bottom to the Consigliere got took,
I found the underboss hanging on to evidence that shut the Don out of the state from a firebombed butcher’s shop in the back by a meat hook, bullet riddled legs limp and falling off, a dozen dead thugs by a card game in the back, plates with cold steak and scrambled eggs
papers ran facts on the carnage, questioned the anarchy, only one washout journalist tried to explain
he must have racked his brain, put himself through so much pain,
in a blind spot there was just another crime, on a scale that looked insane
he said good people were out there, outnumbering the bad
that no matter the hard times, those breed helping hands from survivors who know what they’re like, because they see you having the same day they’ve had
his words were in print, but I felt them reaching out and the fingertips fell short of the grasp
he was a man drowning in senseless slaughter, coming up for air and that was what he saw in a gasp
I know they need hope, but they don’t know it like I do, it’s the environment that breeds the opportunity, otherwise we would never get away with what we do
people don’t make the city clean
you know what I mean
there’s a system, they operate it, a monolithic, twisted, broken glass jaw of a weaker species that spits spiteful and sick ****, it’s full of hatred, eyes red, bureaucrats that ******* cats to see them land on their backs, it only speaks the language of violent acts so it only understands you if you attack, everything in the string-pullers is the least of actual humanity, it’s forsaken because they are the most of what a person lacks, and we answer to their highest calling it’s brass tacks, it’s a blood tax, it’s a wish come true light the candle at both ends and wait until there’s no more wax,
the city isn’t *****, it was built by us, it wasn’t perfect when we got here, but we **** sure broke her trust, you either live the life you want or you die how you must.
write
please read and enjoy
wordvango Jul 2017
when did all the coroners go on strike?
bodies are piling up
and no one knows
why or when
they met their fate
or even if they are
really dead
they may be sleeping
See the magnets, magnetizing eyes, spills, off the paralyze,
Analyze,  the rap game, **** shame, no hope for gains,
Masters closed, studio using folks, for a front page article,
I took Anita's route, learned it good, no more black Hollywood,
Sirens, playing gold, strings to my ears, til it starts to ring,
Bling, like a light, looking for a place, to touch, deepest clutch,
Grind everyday, **** what possibilites say, I pray,
Under, any weather go getter, hands like Floyd Mayweather,
Stormy nights, candle lights white paper, with tha ball point writes,
Dope am I, heads focused towards the sky, see the drawn signs,
Angels holding horns, demons flying in on a swarm, snake charms,
How many evils, of good, does it take for it, to be understood,
Mister conundrum, sound the drums, followed by the guns, hums,
Shallow greets, mystery meets, it's like MF DOOM on a sweep,
Chop up ya vocals, til ya a vegetable, verses, I spit it so legible,
This ain't ya average edible, and when I cut y'all, I make sure,
Ya billed through, the coroners taxed revenue, ya feeling me,
Filling you, so true, words stick like a plate a fish do, animal,
Savage, ride by, eyes red, got the instincts buggin, off the cabbage,
Carnage layer, not a fair player, peace to the gods, that slayed ya,
Ya mayor, naw **** that, I rather sit like Lincoln, with the top hat,
Top that, with boss macks, breaking rules, with unimaginable stats,
Yo it's like that, eyes behold, the steels of ya flesh, on a role,
A billion tears, formed since the early years, hidden deep fears,
Poured out, the atmosphere, you folks ain't hearing, me clear,
Took Bushwick's bullets, reloaded it and pulled it, at an enemy,
See now, they no longer hunting me, sitting in the cemetery,
Buried with pain, looking at the deep remains,of the spiritually drained,
Too high to die, spotted Elijah on the clouds, of the wings by,
Fiery wardrobe standing on top of the globe, with five loaves,
Quick to break bread, but understand theres betrayal, of trust ahead,
Gotta watch my back, no slack, it ain't bout the street crack,
Cuz these cats, in the streets cracks, no real **** for that,
Imagine if Emit til wasnt black, how many would, replace there maps,
Reverse roles, are scared to die, or just another, fake vessels,
Riding off of the risky waves, and I know that I'm brave, til I'm in the grave,
Soul shadows, looking over me, asking god to help me,
But he dont hear me, lay mercy upon  thee, souls of the city,
It used to look pretty, like diamonds on my rollie, never phony,
Caught a glimpse, of Pretty Tony smackin, ******* to crony,
Lonely hearts, like Jackie Wilson, shaving the teardrops,
This is what I gotta do, stay true, under god, individual,
we spot troops, before they spot out troops, infidel catch a scoop,
Picture this, Bond ****, 007 hits marksmanship, expert,
Make heads squirts, and oh it hurts, take page, from my mind,
And you'll find, your infinite ways, behind, this mastermind
Sleep Apr 2019
You black-breathed ones, you
coroners of taste. Ring me again
at 5 in the morning and you’ll know me
for worse. Paint-smeared, you stencilers,
you self-imposers imposing yourselves on
my breast, blubbering of goddesses and
jeweled necks—break yours straining
to have mine. Little chickens pecking the dirt
you’ve had morsels enough. Salarymen, you
daddy men, men of drink and belt: I am not fat,
or skinny, for you.
feministesque
Huh I flex chrome metals street annoynmous general polished black macks exposin' ya brain mineral no sentimentals
Wear twisted back hats no snapbacks
But crack backs like a master snaps
Whiplash leave an unhealible **** all about my maths
No subtractions only additions
Or divisions lone ranger invokiñ' danger
Out of a broken manger thirty first round in the chamber
Fully clips unload mute y'all lips sink ships
Casket closed no sweat on my nose
Once I seen the body froze then back
My ***** goes and grows inside ya girls pussyhole
Stay swole
Breakin' her urge ****** it's homocidal
Tryna step to a dangerous crew drinkin' brews
Intoxicated off of rhymes makin' dimes
On pennies feelin' like Hill Benny
Anoint my mind state with the stickiest joints
All bullets point at me but can't harm me
Ricochet all day either way I'm still gone slay
With the verbal AKs splittin' toupees these days
Haters follow make ya headless sleepy hallow
None could borrow lyrics flow like water
Prepared for slaughter from the tidal waves
Made brave weak hearts I crave and save
Brailled faith like Jesus to Judas watch shootaz
Waiting in corner to put me in the coroners
But **** that I refuse to be a spiritual foreigner



Raindrops from the clouds it's mother nature's cry
Opening her thighs ******* all over the skies
See the sin that hides over the masses my mind crashes and clashes
With stupidity of humanity I'll be **** G
If i can't blast away these evilness that trys to stay
Know to many homies buried by the Glocks
Caught up in the ticks and tocks of deaths clock
Onto the afterworlds spirits locked
And will they be able to knock
on heavens or hells door check carcasses blood all over the floor
Makes the grass grow see how the winds blows
It's another spiritual signing but real folks ain't finding
The ways of Ecclesiastes Lord left us tactics
Follow Elijah's commandmants got **** it can't stand it
Madness dancing around thoughts drowned
In the water tryna stay afloat on top of things
My mind rings but it's hard since evil and good are rival siblings
They stay firing forever will be hiring
The next dummies to exchange
There souls over riches for temporary gains
Ables turn Cain once greed spreads in their membrane
Consciously unspoken cuz they broken
By false apperance happinesses cloakin'
Watched for hataz and spiteful tokens
Sit back relax before ya body be drenched by bullets in red soakin

— The End —