Because I don't have the time to be solely defined by colour or race.
Or my lack of religion or any such faith.
It's just not my problem: you choose to turn your hurt into hate
It's a universal solitary struggle my brutha - handle yours, it soon waste.
Koz I love my passion and my spice
And my language that breathes life,
Into me and that's who I is and will continue to grow into being.

If I get the time koz the man keeps tryin' to stop me at the sight of my race???!?!!
What an inane battle and human disgrace.

You look too good to be true
You must be bad
You look like my future boo
I would be glad

You look too bad to be good
I must be mad
You look like ur in the mood
Maybe just a tad.

You look too fly to be down (for me)
I must be nervous,
Because your silly *** frown
Says you might just curve us.

You look too hip to be scared
I know that I'm ripped
But when we're both in the bed
I gotta handle them hips

You look too fine to be mind
I hope I'm incorrect
I don't mind being behind
When I dig in *****

Why don't you bring those curves to us
So I can put my line in you
Koz girl this is a bad bust
And I'm finna put you in line



BUT
Most importantly.

You is you

Listening to Dave Grusin,
"Mountain Dance," vintage 1979.
The thought strikes:
"Why is it that only the
Early Jazz Giants are deified?
Of course, we need Chet Baker and
Miles Davis in our pantheon, &
Gerry Mulligan & Charlie Parker
Not to mention (cue Soupy Sales:
"Smack. I told you not to mention that!")
Coltrane or Stan Getz.
And yet, we're all getting long teeth and
there's a lot more Smooth Jazz to come,
Post-1950s, take Grusin, for example, or
George Benson or Herbie Hancock, and
What about Earl Klugh & Larry Carlton?
Let's not forget Spyro Gira &
The Daves: Benoit and Koz.
And we would be remiss
To miss Chris, young Chris,
Chris - "The Whippersnapper" - Botti.
But I digress.

I’m good with nothing,
That’s why I have options.
Do I need to convey that to you Stranger?
Is there a point?
Koz all I really wanted was to turn off the lights
And for now make everything seem alright
But you don’t have the drive.

Ya know, I like me
And I was excited to show you some of my favourite pieces
But you can’t won’t don’t see me
And purely logical understanding does not naturally lead me to all irie.

My preference is you Stranger
Because what you presented was honest
( and not without its beauty)
But your absences make me forgetful
Especially when an eX can mark that spot just as well.

Your existence is rapidly mythical
And so what was once just a notion
Becomes more of an inevitability.

No apologies necessary

everyone who passes through the  house of James
plays a part in their second story   story
Nick is not of  the kitchen
but he’s ghosting there

and he tries
he tries   with words  
he tries with dance
he tries so hard we barely see him!

James is thirsty!
and that’s the other story...
He's drying *******
on an old gas cooker

when ‘Phelie   blows in
on a colleague  
o’ Koz Bar leaves  
hi  poising   cat-ready  

on a brown couch
on a couch
that remembers no shape
though she tries

she tries to make an impression
on our blurred nerves too
beginning with alrigh'
which is  hi too   but with feeling  

this hi assumes we know
drama gril and da Richmond crew
And I try to say
I mean I am trying to say

the couch remembers no shape
I have no memory
of drama teachers or  michelle
yelling again darling with feeling this time

then she tells
me what a lonely time
it has been since the…addiction -
michelle poising there

upon the word
like a  Lepidopterist’s pin
on au-then-tic-i-ty -
isn’t it enough that I said it?

now that it’s a dead thing
it spreads its terrible wings
and 'Phelie double drops
her second story    hello  hello

we lean into a kiss  hello
her lips are not dry
though she smokes her mouth un-wet
she tries to say hello

by laughing at
I've given up not-smoking
and we talk
and kiss  a fresh hello

undress hello
touch hello
leading to a breathless hello   hello   hello
and now  I am saying,

*again darling with feeling this time

I kant here my quay
bored write now bee
koz ov de eer fones
+ it iz darc and dare
iz no lite in de rhume
so dis haz too bee a
fonethic pome dat eye
ex specked u kan sea
whi I am dis leck sick.