Mabilis ang ikot ng aking mundo.
Pero ito’y bumagal noong hinawakan mo ako.
Kapit mo’y tumitindi ang higpit.
Ako’y biglang nag-init
Hindi mo nakayanan
ang init na nararamdaman.
Matigas **** diin ay nag wakas.
Naubos bigla ang iyong lakas.
Pagka-ipit at pagsabog ang naranasan
nang aksidente ay di natin naiwasan.

tizzy looped his past: he had looped it and then looped it howevah, whoop to diz
gangstapoetry boosted its duties newly
we simply gs, whose duties include

slowmoflow like snoop, or p, ain't no thang
i create slang in the hate center, last trip i flew thru loops, break dancers and readers
want answers, so we give straight answers

lyrics of fame bangers, one rhyme for eight
don't take chances, tizz stylobate, sunrise
poems born from crime, give it some time
gotta come right, sell it all at one price

my blood cries in rough nights, plagued by
enough of tough stuff, but me ain't a fluff
i bluff and take what's rightfully mine
tizz is frightfully nice, he neva comes twice

coco loco, monica matadora tending
first song jeezy's "poppin" pimpin pimpz
red-blodded hamza comin ova to test me
subtly intimidating, i just call him "habibi"

ice breaker, you feel me, we good, truly
check out jammed jay, pushin designer
hamza on the toilet, yayo, his girl, bunny
snugglin wit jammed jay for real by now

close to my dj area, rubbin *** gainst ****
tina staring camly into her secret intention
i expect something vaguely, forget it, tho
as hamza al-mighty gets back, explodes

he beats up jay, promptly breakin' his nose
jay looks at the blood; pulls out a cudgel
bashin hamza's skull, flesh splinters
hamza strikes back wit em bludgeons

wondaland's red light, serving proudly 24/7
hamza's pack, yousif, said, wassim and mo
ready to battle the enemy of the enemy
lego goon, antwone, bobby butchah, juan

Depends what your idea of colour is
or if your forever will ever exist.
Too many ink lines on one too many lists,
another reason for you to invest in one kiss.
Visit them, pay them,
lay next to them in Milan:
as there you can let every crease
unravel and unfurl,
let the block roll on,
like every Italian street.

Here, a fake friend has helped you
write a novel,
she helped you out of that darker hovel-
where you once sat and laid,
cut yourself off from
apartment rent and all the prices paid.

They say a wild women burnt my soul.
coughed up ashes.
raised by a whiskey bottle and a pair
of loaded dice to roll.

She showed me the blues at thirteen.
Took me by the hand.
Said boy this lifes a party and this  one
beats anything your young eyes have ever seen.

And so the taste was made  and a cure i
havent found yet.
The  best of the worst  my sweetest   regret.

Life as a party  is a vision of night.
We find more answers unasked.
Then in the moment of a fight.

Back alleys and the quick fix.
The redlight reason.
And the devils bag of tricks.

Snake eyes and your last dime.
A slow trains exit.
A suitcase of soul  with a empty wallet full of time.

Half a pint of  happiness a empty bottle of blues.
The road  is a quest.
The  path yours to choose.

Texas heat to a New York chill.
Neon cast memories  a  loner's  existance.
And a thirst I can never fulfill.

Chords  echo softley a vast reflection  in rhyme.
Ive gotta  empty bottle for a heart.
And a wallet full of time.

you scratched our initials
into the surface
of the polished wooden table
behind Redlight Redlight
with the key to my heart.

P + S.

a brief message
etched in time
for all to see.
you grinned up at me
when you'd finished,
ombré fluttering slightly
in the evening breeze,
and said, unabashedly,
"it was the first thing
that popped into to my head."

P.S.

sometimes, i still think
of how your hands clung insistently
to my windbreaker when we sat
on the pier, how our bodies
synced in quiet harmony.

Redlight running faster than the words I left unsaid
and in the tides of sirens I lay broken with nothing left
Looking through those shattered windows, pained eyes
Watch the hands that healed now bloodstained leave their sight
My sight

Choking on the ashes of the house we built
The world stood silent and the oceans filled
With sweat and tears paired with heartache that no one else could feel
and memories scared with sorrow of which these wounds may never heal
Let them heal
just let me heal

Gasping for the surface giving all I have
Escape the grave of suffering with my last breath
So convinced by bitterness that I may never love again
But I'll stand strong against the gods because thats just who I am

But its not for you
It never could be
and its so hard with every step we're unlearning
this house of cards is burning
burning
Down

What do the gods know
of humanity
to be unlovable
Thanks for convincing me
That I will die alone
Hurt the ones that mean the most and no one in this world was
Meant
For
Me

And its not for you
It never will be
and its so hard with every step I'm unlearning
But my hearts caught fire
and its burning, burning now.

The road behind still seemed more tempting  than the wasteland of hollow thoughts and
empty dreams that lay outside my hotel room window.
I'd long since given up on having anything known as a comfort zone.

Still although it was hours since we landed still my thoughts rambled like some child as he sits listening to a trains whistle on a long dark night.

My fellow shadows had long since learned a private room was better than a front row seat to
my often insanity spun sideshow of late nights and bitter rants.
It was me and my thoughts a plague of my own creation  in full swing and obsecure few
a stiff drink and some good pills kept the thoughts at bay for the moment.

We found areselves in the city of Angels but  it reaked more of devils torment and wicked excess.
Hookers cheap *** and some overpriced drugs.
The blood of dreams covered the streets and old starts of the fames lure slept next to the broken and homeless.

Why had I ever came here was it ego?
Or just a good time to flaunt in the face of all thoose caught in the gears of
the day to day grind.

This land of empty thoughts  and cursed remakes there was nothing creative bout this scene kids  just give your neck to the vampire and pray he yerns for a taste.
Maybe you'll be one in the few or just another hideline.
Fallen star found dead outside some overpriced nightclub.

Me I was here for a gig and nothing more .
To provide some laughs between drinks i had no illusions of fame.
To me I looked in the crystal ball and just saw another cheap snow globe
of nothing more than candy coated lies.

This wasnt my scene it wasnt anyones scene just a playground gone
wrong a wasteland of bad ideas and hollow thoughts.
That made Vegas seem like a good idea at the time.

Neon lights and lost thoughts haunt the hours spent like some
silent witness to a future crime scene and a redlight work of art.

And as I recalled the nights show I tried to forget the faces from behind the lights
that seemed broken by some plastic surgeons *******.
Give me women with flaws and unsculpted fools.
Perfect people can have this place that seemed more like a gateway to
a delusion cast hell than screen print paradise.

Course many would paint it diffrent if they held the brush but I wasnt
much of a painter to begin with.
And as tommorow loomed with the smog I packed my suitcase thinking.
If we could just drown half the suits and give it to the miscast freaks
pretending to be superheros for tourist pics what a ****** up
theme park we'd have then.

A few hits and alotta drinks later we were gone and there was no question
If we had left a empression.
Only a ****** of a much higher degree would wanna leave anything there.
Except maybe a pipe bomb in a suits office bleeding some old franchise
for every drop it was worth.

No my friends the rearview wasnt looked in often.
What did you think of it?
My fellow traveler  asked as we counted potholes and passed the bottle

Well it sure wasnt Kansas my friend.
What the ***** in Kansas?
Anything but this ******* place amigo.

Someday, I won't remember this
Sitting in a bedroom
With only the Christmas lights on
On a half-baked winter solstice
In week old sweatpants
Faded hair and muscles sore
My vision blurring
Pixelating
Focused only on the screen
I won't remember this
No one will

I was the youth wave once
groovy in the know
hip
then my twenty ninth birthday came and
I was still alive
not ready yet
to give it up saw
quite a future
in disco
then the ball dropped
on fifty
still I grooved
and held up my medallion
a Peace sign hung proud
around my neck
hair all down my back
a green Army jacket
on my arms
and  yes, still bell-bottomed jeans
and Roots boots just a little
protruding;
I just tie-dyed a new t-shirt,
sent my water pipe out for cleaning,
put CCR on the YouTube thing
tweeted
on my page ,
I am still here to all them
know it all youngens
who text at the speed
of light going through every
redlight

Without it
we are pedestrians

at a crosswalk with a redlight
that never changes

awash in petty laws
and ordinances

always afraid to risk
the tightrope of absurdity

but with it
the sky's the limit

and we can shed things
like old and tired cliches

the way we do clothes
that have long gone out of fashion

whit howland © 2021

Try what?
Try that many say, in a small town.

Why not?
You only expose the fearful fools.
Still stuck in Twight light time afraid of reality.
Of a changing world that leaving them behind.

One redlight.
And nothing more.
Filled with people afraid to venture out and explore.

Yes, try that in a small town.
Where only the bigots live?
Then just maybe they don't.