Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013

Rosey
Posey
Wheres my lips?
Tippy tozy
Feet on tips
Arrow down
Arrow up
Toffee coffee
In my cup

Crisp, the fallen leaves now pile,
the times are changing, Autumn-style,
breezes rake the tippy-tops of trees,
bare branches rattle like skeleton keys.
Subtle September has come once again,
tipping its hat to the Summer's end,
makes clear and crisp the evening air,
the harvest season now sidles near,
grass and weeds will wither dry,
scythes and sickles swing low and high,
gourds of pumpkins soon will burst in patches,
fat apples drop down cider-press hatches,
so soon those sugary coats of frost shall rise,
and sharp, chilly winds will sting teary eyes,
fruit pies will bake, brown nuts will roast,
glasses of wine shall arise in toasts,
to the approach of yet another Fall,
before the stark-white of Winter blankets all.

there may be a time when I'm removed far enough

… but no, not today, today, I ask
new mercies, and
I recall, that's on auto. Hapsthappeneverday kinda thing.
Time after time.
That is a miracle, time.

Really smart
people, that class that feels included in the
we, the
people, politico-intellect-ism trend sect,
they think the math is there to prove

time is
what clocks do, (Royal Institute Youtube watch it)
                                                  
that we,
that ain't me, ye see, I got

removed far enough
to see the blurry
next res
bigger picture more pixels than an eye is said able to see

So for everlasting ideas,
like hell and
heaven,  

the re act
to my act is the power
to act. Eternal motion as perpetual
as can be imagined by mortals, for sure.

Get it together or you leave a huge hole in the fabric of reality JBP

play the role your hand finds dealt,
your special way,
words count inbetween the sayer/hearer
the idle wons are wins not worth the weight, don't fight
the value system that makes life spirial,
swirl of a wand, mathematically
bowing to magi
Fibbo, go viral
with my wind.

this is your life role,
the one in eight billion role.
the star of the show as the hero of hormone wars.
it's all in your head,

how did it *** there, howditgit
this way
this is crazy. No, you never saw crazy, old dude.

Ya had yo'own knows sparkin' at the grindstone,

whet the edge,
or put to more labor..

removed
far enough from this world

my bubble
is in it not of it,
… since 1970. No ****. Outathis world…

Crazy was the melding  from the sixties to…

I was thinking, to about the mid-eighties, but
now,
you and I, we travelled to the beat of several
different drums.
Olde dude,

If you put your nose to the grind, ******
you may have missed,
in fifty years,
more
than you imagined, now, is a new day time.

Some seed never sown back when, can be sown and
grown right,
now.
That's good.
I'd say some words I've helped be heard have

made the world some better'nitwas when we stopped.

time to roll.

Sisyphus, right. 'Never missed a trick time
it takes to roll the rock up,
then in between tick time
to roll the rock up,

onus minus the roll down, the unshackled wireless
inbetween shameless blameless
imagine
happy ever after…
How?
Pretend, the end.

Push, happy as hell.
tick, time
to roll the rock up,

Incorrectness of value of value from the gitgo,
like buttoning your shirt wrong from the first button,
as soon as you fix it, it's fixed.

Nothin' you can do?
Do nothin'.

Think, Sisyphus, happy

Happy he's not in that time we are so removed from
now
slow and steady kinda wins the race, she said that,

Ben or me? Where does the thread un-ravel?

Extended time model, Rogan in the back ground,
what myth has the fear factor guy,
a little short power-lifter-kick boxer guy,
some smart, quick of wit, a hunter,

who was asked, in Thailand,
Have you seen the true beauty of the elephant?
I was asked that, in Thailand,
by a saffroned monk at a kickboxing match
in the jungle in 1968.
Synchroni-city or what?

Who could steer it's  hearing
by a clock and fail

to hear the rhythm of the rock rolling down the hill,
inbetween
the tick…

Sisyphus says time is more effective,

if-ity-ish when,
and only then, when ticks hapt to be

at the very point of return
time
the roll back
no rush, no dread no worry, imagine

time ticks at the sharpest point of the story
at the very very very tippy top
point in time

defining you.
Shame, sticks to you like tar.
Marilyn and Monica and Marla and all

Fame to blame, to shame for being  a believer that
there may be a time when I'm removed far enough

to ignor my own ignorance and innocence
of ideas that possessed
fools

A murderous assault on your attention span,
musicals, those people really live near enough my bubble,
that I can find
ripples

from decades I missed, this is 2018, how can it get better?

The grand wizard cat. pop. elephants are so sweet,
dam,
rewound. Really,
cool, I know what he says next, it's funny before it's funny.

Today is a real good day to get away. Binging Rogan,
testing a mystery fruct-ification
of a single seed from
a sack 'shake.

----
As you move forward in time how do you measure

progress
lo-res thinking, 72 dpi 1984 Macintosh. Hello

now there is reality at the speed of thought, imagine

this was once the speed of thought.

===
why are you in pain? Do you know any lies you believe?
Do you
urge others to suspend their un-belief
to hear you think

listen
ridiculously (is that a good word)

listen, people become interesting, from a distance,
thank you,
I'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

I want this life to read like an intricate novel. I don’t want to keep sitting at a computer all day while the romance of life slips through my arthritic fingers. They are meant to write beautiful prose that flow over our souls and cover them with golden warmth.

Yet they are tippy-tappy typing away at exhausting, unimaginative emails with signatures like “warmest regards” to cover how calloused my heart has become.

Sitting in this comfortable space behind a giant screen where nothing can hurt me is crippling.  We were meant to embrace the love this earth holds us in. We are supposed to bathe in rivers, meet strangers in different cities, and learn to fall. My knees should have scrapes, my elbows bruised from stumbles I take on dirt roads and motorbikes.

While my bones are intact, my life is what is breaking.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all down the street
Came a howling of wind and a lashing of sleet
The stockings were hung by the 50 inch plasma
And parents were snoring like bulldogs with asthma

The children were nestled in cosy wee places
With smug little grins on their villainous faces
Their mum in her nightie and I in my skin
Were of Christmassy spirit, specifically Gin

When out in the garden, a moaning was heard
I sprang to my feet without breathing a word
With a hint of a stagger and stumbling feet
I went to the curtains all sly and discreet

And what did I spy as I peeped through the crack?
No jolly fat Santa or magical sack
It was as I had feared but had always expected
The zombies were here and St. Nick was infected!

His sled, with a frenzy of giblets, was smitten
And was pulled by a mob of the people he’d bitten
He threatened and jabbed them to get them to run
And struck at their heads with the **** of his gun

“Now Arnie, now Johnny, Now Barrak Obama
On Oprah, on Beckham and on Dalai Lama
On half of Madonna and Samuel L. Jackson
And run for your lives at the sound of the claxon”

The sled rose aloft dragging corpses behind
Like a wedding day prank from a murderous mind
And with more than a hint of the melodramatic
An almighty crash rattled down from the attic

Still dressed, as it were, in my birthday attire
Some pants and a chainsaw, my only desire
I crept on my tippy-toes, ever so soft
And I heard a grim sound from the stairs to the loft

I searched for a weapon and first within sight
Was the bottle of ***** for Boxing Day night
I ran from the bedroom to battle my foe
I turned to the stairs, but now where did he go?

When a breath on my neck made me shiver and freeze
And a trickle of ***** advanced to my knees
I came to my senses and spun on the spot
And before me pulsating with maggots and rot

There stood zombie Santa, he drooled as he leered
His eyes filled with hunger and blood in his beard
I screamed and I bolted, I ran down the stairs
I bounced and I bounded and leapt them in pairs

I rounded the corner and flung back the door
I flicked on the light but could journey no more
The windows were gone and in every direction
Were lurching the victims of zombie infection

They lunged and they nibbled and ripped me apart
They tore out my liver and chewed on my heart
My giblets, like tinsel, were strung on the tree
And beneath lay the presents in puddles of me

And while they made meals of my pieces of mind
Upstairs there was gore of a similar kind
The missus was mangled and minced in her sleep
And Santa selected the pieces he’d keep

The children still snoozed with not even a groan
The zombies sensed evil, and left them alone
Their work was complete so they hastened away
To the attic they galloped to rev up the sleigh

With a scrape and a grind and a clatter of slate
They took to the air to continue their spate
And the voice of St. Nick could be heard from the sky
“Merry Christmas to all and to all……

DIE!”

Quite scary to know we have “x” days remaining
I will never lose a day because it’s raining
But I must protect what I hold most dear
It is time with family and friends maybe some beer
Laughs, stories of heroes and foes
Live my life bold and loud, not careful on tippy toes.
Because why would you ever be quiet and hide?
Life can be a euphoric one hell of a ride.

I’ve been labeled with a term that begins with P and ends with oet
But I owe it to to those listening to explain the steps I’ve taken
225 days of mistaken tippy toes and battles fought arresting a demon to keep him caged thirsty
He stays thirsty
Drips of thick liquid that bring cure to others make his body sick but his mind goes at ease
The random shocks of pain that jolt throughout my body telling me to get more is a reminder that this struggled battle will never be over
This devil on my shoulder is whispering terms of endearment while the angel is tirelessly hanging off my biceps trying to whisper his words of truth
There’s no other way around it
I live by the standard ‘once an addict always an addict’
I am an addict
Before that fact jumps down your throat to join the heart that jumped up in it, let me explain
Addicts like me work long *** days breaking their back to break bread and emerge victorious in their ocean of mistakes
Instead of treading H20, it’s theraflu and pepto,
I used to be drowning but now I’m only waist deep
Slowly, day by day, the drain taking it away makes the level of pepto low
Soon, maybe I’ll be able to say I’m in a puddle getting my tippy toes wet in OTC’s
Then it’ll dry
My tongue shall stay dry
Like that of the demon that stays
Caged
Thirsty
Waiting for a day that my mentality meets frustration so great that I’m attempted to sling that syrup down my throat so suddenly that my stomach acid is left in wonder
Silently slipping into a comatose state that no soul may recover from
To prevent this, I’ll pin praying hands to my nose and speak to a God that I’m not even sure is listening
As I apologize from straying away from the path he’s set for me, I’ll look forward and realize that the hurting is gone
Indeed, more will come
But there is no fear in these eyes
My mother’s soft touch on my shoulder
Friends cementing their hands to my spine to make sure I stay standing
I feel safe and secure to stand on a cliffs edge while the oceans muddy water rushes at it’s walls
I will not fall
Because I just showered
And I intend on staying clean…

aware of some
things, aware
HERE am I
there you are

near and far and nothing
in between, why
should I care, beware…

It's me,
in this world, it's me,
making up my mind, to live on,
to live on
to leave behind me, for you -

a way to go,
if you really wish to follow, if
you truly hold the hope of ever
being better than right
now,
now. Right, not wrong, right now.
You know.
You think you know, right now,

with no miracles, no little things
to see, with no joy felt shared,
with no sorrow shown in tears,
with no feet a dancin'

up on tippy toes, just a spinnin'
in time,
like a planet or a star, loopin' life
in time,
from somewhere inside, center
of heavy
of hard
of dark and cold… dark and cold…

singer… singer singing wordlessly,
la las and mmmhmmms, so so so

lighten up,
lighten up my will to be worthy,
lighten up my will to be care free,

lighten up my will to be loved, by

strangers who imagine I have
loosed some good in some shape,
loosed some good held out of sight,

strange as not cognized, coknown,
to me and you, the other end of these

lines left to prove, a second
thought… if you make joy, peace remains
enjoyable,
no mass converts to energy,
my taken peace, my inspiration never
expires, each time I miss, I miss nothing
I hit
on another decision
to make.

I laugh, and let out long rambles, through
brambles familiar
to creatures built low
to the ground
at the human
being being being more than…

Partaker of the programming.
Snipping
Re-ligamental knots, religious at-here-
ence sense so common to all here,
re-
filtered feeling manufactured, here
in living words translatable, peaceable,

easy
to use while defusing the confusion,
and allowing angelic angst ambitious umph,

committed, chance fret naught,
take the shot, think thirty aught six, BANG

Big,
nothing like the game, recoil
that's what's missing… recoil,
kick,
to remind you what Newton knew.

Not Issac, Fred Newton, from Weedpatch, Ca,
a few miles this side of Bakersfield…

He, comes up around Thanksgiving,
in the spirit now, since he's dead,

he looks at me and grins, so big.

For me to live, that  turkey must die.
old fisher of men, he knew, he'd say
a man's remembered, for the shot,

no turkey ever is,
that's something
to be thankful for.

Halfway there
And you turn around
Walking right to me
Climbing to the top of your tippy-toes
Your lips grab mine
And erase my mind

4/4/2017 "day 4"

"Used to?
Isn't being a father permenent?
What, did she die?"

Yes.
Tragic accident
I prefer not to talk about it.

"I'm sorry..."

I'm better now,
it's been four years
She gave me lots of poetry to write
Gave me lots of happiness
when She was mine.

"She'll always be yours."

No.
Okay she didn't die.
She's still out there
somewhere
but she's not mine.
I fell in love
with a nerdy irish woman
We were both fifteen
When I said her one year old daughter
Wasn't gonna scare me away
I was in the trenches love.

"That's powerful
To love someone so much
That you are willing to raise a baby at fifteen."

At fifteen
I didn't even know what love was,
not when I met her anyway.
I was in lust.
I was blinded by a beautiful woman
who was so pretty
I didn't care what baggage she had.
I was willing to risk my life
to spend it with her.

"That's what love is."

No. That's not love.
Love is waking up to someone
staring at you
from over the edge of your bedsheets
Because that's as tall
as they can get in their tippy toes
Love is Mashed potatoes
on your nose
giggling at toppled over snowmen.
Love is not just
putting a bandage on a boo boo,
but knowing someone has always
and will forever kiss and bandage
every single boo boo

"So You can never love someone
like you love a child."

Well, You might.
But I'm broken

Always nuture or abandon
Usually both
While I wander around
praying for a ******
to pop.

"do you really want another child?"

Yes. I am ready.
I have wandered four years
with no purpose of life
other than to provide
for my own baby
I need one,
can't you understand?

"Can you even support a child?"

I could make it work, find a sitter.

No... I can't even feed myself
regularly. ..
There's no way I could
support a family
when I am as sick as I've been.

"who was the real father?"

You all ******* ask that.

She wouldn't tell me okay?
Slept around,
never asked for names.

"But she must have told someone."

she lied to the government.
It was a pack of men
who ***** her.
Wearing masks.
Never got a dna test,
never got ANY testing
Do you think I know?

"I do."

look. It's the only gift
I have left to offer that little girl.
I will not tell a single soul.
It was someone her mother loved very much.
Someone she would never be able to love
without being judged.
someone who must be buried
beneath old corpses
Hidden at the bottom of every bottle
carried on her shoulders
until the day she dies
And even then if she is very lucky
he will never know it's his.
She looked him dead in the eyes and lied.
she was dead in the eyes and lied
she is dead in everyones eyes
because she lied
she can't drink enough to forget
That her family regrets her
And no matter how many
strangers she *****
She can't make up for the ones
she lied about in the beginning
back when he was
the only one to touch her
She compensates
to unravel the web with her body
But the silk is woven so thick now.
as thick as it is

it still won't keep her baby warm.

The cat tippy toes along the edge of the grass
Being sure to place each foot gently on the brick
That attempts to hold back the grass from growing
Into the flower bed.

The leaves have turned and fallen as the days have gotten colder.
They litter the lawn with their gold, rust and orange hues.
The dogs play toys and other evidence no longer visible beneath
The crispy carpet.

I will have to get out there and clear all that away before
The days get too uncomfortable to be enjoyable for yard work.
This time of year is always busy with winter preparations and
Summer’s remembering.

It just dawned on me; this is the first change of season
I have not been sad and anxious, that I can remember.
I wonder what that’s all about.  Not sure but
I like it...a lot.

THE RETURN OF DUM MAARO DUM
( for Driftwood )


She dances
upon her tippy toes

upon my toes
whirling 'bout the room

to DUM MAARO DUM
she my little Bollywood queen.

"Again...again....again!" she squeals
mad with childish delight.

Asha sings to us
and we...dance!

Sunlight throws itself
at our feet.

We dance upon it.

Summer gasps
holds its breath.

There is nothing but
the music....and us!

She is all
of three

screaming: "Bollywood me...Bollywood me!"

"This...won't....get the dinner done!"
screams Mum above the fun.

The record screechs
and scratches ...ouch...off!

I cut cuecumbers
into tiny tiny pieces.

Tilly washes spinach and lettuce.

But when Mum
goes to answer the phone

it's her best chum
she will be hours

we sneak Asha
back into the kitchen.

The return of. . .

"Dum maaro dum
Mit jaaye gham
Bolo subaha shaam
Hare Krishna hare Krishna hare Krishna Hare Ram!"

pretty pretty girl
all wrapped up in pretty pretty ribbon
like a gift

an object

wrapped like an object
stuck in a pretty pretty box
a pretty pink box
dance on your tippy toes
raise higher
higher
higher, darling
break your pretty pretty pink toenails

i want to hear the snap your bones make when you bend backwards trying to please the people all roughly wrapped in blue

pretty pretty boy
all wrapped in pretty pretty ribbon
can you hear the whistles?
can you?

that high pitched squeal that shatters your ear drum
it beats like the bang of a drum
march, soldier
march

open your pretty pretty eyes
all sewn shut

shove purple paint down your own throat if it helps you

pretty pretty pretty girl
pretty pretty pretty boy

pretty pretty people don't exist

When I was little I was programmed to believe I would know all that I need by "our first kiss"
That even a frog could become a prince.
And Snow White could come back to life, by the touch of the right mans lips.
And though Im not quite looking for a fairy tale prince.
I still want to be treated like a princess.
I know it may sound petty or cliché,
But at the end of the day. .
It can be the determining factor of how I feel.
I want to wrap my arms around you and kick up my heel.
Stand up on my tippy toes.
Nose to nose.
And show you exactly how I feel.
When words aren't enough.
Nothing can fill me up, like the touch of his lips.
Sending pure bliss throughout my body.
He kisses me like its his hobby.
Whenever he walks out the door.
And again when he walks back in.
Sends chills up. .and back down my spine.
Like its the first time, every time.
He plants his kiss.

Ill open my eyes and look into his.
And without even thinking about it, I'll know all that I need to know.
From the very first kiss.

I imagine I must talk to my dead seventh grade teacher
who told me to be better, who
told off the children when they brought me a butcher knife
because I cannot learn algebra if I am dead.

The deceased are more than likely with the sun
wherever it is right now. Tomorrow’s twilight, I will find
my dead seventh grade math teacher
stand on my tippy-toes,
try to be as tall as him and ask if he still thinks I should be
alive. Five years later and I cannot understand
why a person with his same name could
ruin my life when he, in turn, saved mine. I am a bad
person for wishing she were the one that the flu took then.

Unlike the others,
Mr. Kats did not mention the SATs or growing up. He
would not be there to see either happen
and I bet he believed God knew.

Then again, I knew the side of him that did not
know God well enough to remind me of a Mormon church
until I saw his youngest daughter alone on her knees
whilst the eldest sang about how
her father would never need to move with
a walker. I held my best friend’s hand
when we met his corpse, because he had saved her too.

I imagine we must talk, but not for me to tell him
that I do not care about algebra, I guess he already realizes.
We were never really special to each other
when I think about it,
he was too strict and I was too sad and now it’s too quiet:

I haven’t entered a classroom since, died some as well
but my only punishment
was a broken heart by his reincarnate. There was no lesson.

Tall girls are beautiful, I see the poster say,
looking down to myself I feel my feelings turn grey.
Tall girls are perfect, I feel my soul pour out into my mind,
as I awake to see I am the same height as days before this one.
Tall girls are fair, loving as well as a lot more cute,
much more appealing for him, a fair or perfect height for a kiss.

But short girls can never reach their favourite snacks,
we have to pull up a chair and climb the sides of our kitchens.
Short girls have to tippy toe,
just to kiss him on the lips in the right way he wants.
Short girls can't look down on those who they love, only up,
which leads us to remind ourselves we always remain “small”.

Tall girls can stroll by and scare a small girl like me,
because we fear you might just realize, that tall girl is who we want to be.
You might hang up your coat and walk out on me...

Still I try my hardest to be proud of myself,
for short girls are beautiful inside and out.
Height should not determine emotional connection,
so please, like all those years don't judge me just as badly as I did.

For you see, Tall girls are beautiful.
But short girls, are just as beautiful too.

Yo, shout out to everybody that worked on the album
You feel me, son? Yo, shouts out to Ty Dollas
Shouts out to Hodgy Daddies, shouts out to Left Brizzle
Shouts out to Domyon, shouts out to Frankie Ocean
Shouts out to Syd the Dude, shouts out to L-Boy Awk
Big eared bandit is tossing all his manners
In a bag and wrapping them in seran wrap bandages
Tossing 'em in baskets with the rest of those sandwiches
So when he says "Catch up, *****" it looks like an accident
Um, flowing like my pad is the maxiest
My ***** white and black like she's been mimicking a panda
It's the dark skinned *****, kissing ******* in Canada
Then kicking all out like Mr. Lawrence did Pamela
Put her in the chamber all against her Wilt Chamberlain
I never had a Reason, ***** I was just Ableton
Not a ******* Logic contradicting *******
Flyer than an ostrich moshing in a tar pit
***** scented cheetah printed tee
In that 'Preme five panel, I'll repeat it for the season
Previous items in the present
With the normal *** past like I cheated on my team
It's me (Tried to get that *****, but, Golf ****)
To have some type of knowledge that is one perception
But knowing you own your opponent is a defeating bonus
I'm Zeus to a Kronos, cartilage cartridge is boneless
Smiles of cowards in lead showers
Dead spouses in red blouses
Children who fled houses on Mustang horses and went jousting
I'm on my Robin Hood ****, robbin' in the hood
Whips, drugs, jewels, and your pet, I'm stealing your rings
Coke diamonds and your Vet, soldiers lace the ******' boot
And salute like the troop when you shoot you gon' ****
It's **** Hodgy, *****, stay the ******* my stoop
And out my Kool aid, Juice
Hodgy got the juice, I got the gin
Jasper got the Henny, my ***** we get it in
Wolf Gang party at the hotel
I call a **, you call a **, and all the hoes tell
You know Left Brain need a freak
I need a ***** to go down like a Nitty beat
Yup, uh, and her *** fat
Don't be surprised if I ask where the hash at
***** I'm tryin' to smoke, ***** get higher
Domo where that Flocka Flame? Talkin' 'bout a lighter
Still bang salute me or just shoot me
Cause if you don't salute me then my team will do the shooting
Yeah my ***** Ace will pull the black jack
The king Mike G is in the cut with the black mac
Livin' like the Mafia, *****, don't get to slacking up
And if these haters actin' up, throw 'em in the aqueduct
Free my ***** Earl, yo, I don't really ask for much
But two bad ******* in front of me *******
What the **** is caution?
Often I leave you flossin' and cause exes next to coffins
Lost in translation, the dreams you chase
Got you diving for the plates like you stealin' home base
That's great, I'm home alone dreamin' of two on ones
With Rihanna and Christina Milian, bring it on
And Travis is in the closet organizing and hangin' the *****
Three lettermans that Ace has been making him
No strays while we catchin' matinees, huh?
I'm gettin' blazed thinking 'bout those days
I had the top off the GT3 like toupees
One finger in the air, all's fair when crime pays
My grand scheme of things is to be attached
To the game like ******* to their wedding rings
And you don't even need to look cause we gleam obscene
In the light, ride slow to my yellow diamond shining
Like the Batman logo over Gotham, rock LA to Harlem
If you say "get 'em Mike G" then I got 'em
One man squadron, ***** I'm a problem
From Briggs I got bars and plans to
**** these Polish ******* into pop stars
Humanity kills, we all suffer from insanity still
And if I said it then it is or it's gonna be real
OF 'til I OD and I probably will, uh
It's still Mr. Smoke-a-Lotta-***, get your baby mommy popped
With my other ****** bop, do I love her? Prolly not
Know your **** is not as hot as anything I ******' drop
***** I'm in the zone, stand alone, like Macaulay ****
I've been runnin' blocks since a snotty tot
Big wheel was a big deal with the water Glock
Now I'm all grown, sing songs just to give 'em watts
Fire what I talk, but still cooler than the otter pop
Op Dom neck **** in your wish list
Mad sick ****, mad **** for your *******
On some slick ****, your mistress on my hit list
And I'm lifted 'til I'm stiff out of this *****
Odd in your *******' area
Blood clots give me five feet 'fore I bury ya
Suicide flow, let the big wave carry ya
Tyler got the mask like he held Jim Carey up
And **** your team, ** ***** wassup
Wolf Gang so you know we not givin' no *****
You know me dog, I'm a chill in the cut so I can
Cut it short, break it down, couple pounds, roll it up
Get me a Persian rug where the center looks like Galaga
Rent a super car for a day
Drive around with your friends, smoke a gram of that haze
Bro, easy on the ounce, that's a lot for a day
But just enough for a week, my ***** what can I say
I'm hi and I'm bye, wait I mean I'm straight
I'mma give you this wine, the runner just brought the grapes
My brother give it some time, Morris, and Day
Course you know the vibe's as fly as the rhymes
On the song, cut and you could sample the feel
Headphone bleed, make this **** sound real
Used to work the grill, fatburger and fries
Then I made a mil and them psychics was liars
Now, how many ******' crystal ***** can I buy and own
Humble old me had to flex for the fogs
Down in Muscle Beach pumpin' iron and bone
Bumpin' oldies off my cellular phone
Yeah, bumpin' oldies off my cellular phone
*******, this rapping is stupid and it's hard
Gotta do it over and over and over again but here I go
Hey it's Jasper, not even a rapper
Only on this beat to make my racks grow faster
Got a TV show, so I guess I'm an actor
*** head, half baked, lookin' like Chappelle
Rollin' up a blunt with that fire from hell
Still ignorant, still hit a *****
Wolf Gang, *****, so I still don't give a ****
Catch me in the back with Miley on my lap
**** rips as I feel on that little ***** cat
Hah, ***** came through with a 9 bar real quick
Just for the *******, little bit of money in my pocket
**** it, Wolf Gang
Yeah, **** that, look, the contrast is a pair of lips
Swallowin' sarapin, settin' fires to sheriffs whips
(Whoosp, whoosp) ******' All-American terrorist
Crushin' rapper larynx to feed 'em a ******' carrot stick
And me? I just spent a year Ferrisin'
And lost a little sanity to show you what hysterics is
Spit to the lips meet the bottom of a barrel
So that sterile **** flow remind these ****** where embarrassed is
Narrow, tight line, might impair him since
I made it back to Fahrenheit, grimey get dinero type
Feral, ******' ill apparel, wearin' pack of parasites
Threw his own youth off the roof after paradise
La di da di, back in here to **** the party up
Raidin' fridges, tippin' over vases with a tommy gun
Never dollars, poppa make it rain hockey pucks
And 60 day chips from ******' awesome anonymous
Call him bloated 'til he show 'em that the flow deluxe
Off the wall loafers, Four Loko, and a cobra clutch
Vocals bold and rough, evoke a ** to pose as drum
And let me hit and beat it with a stick until the hole was numb
The culprit of the potent punch
Scoldin' hot as dunkin' ******* in a Folgers cup, or Nevada
Drivin' drunk inside a stolen truck, shittin' like his colon bust
Belly full of chicken and a fifth of old petroleum
Supernova, I'm rollin' over the novices
I'm roamin' through the forest and spittin' cold as the porridge is
Stay gold 'til the case closed and the story end
Post mortem porkin' this rap **** and record it
To escort it to the morgue again, lord of lips
Bored of this, forklift the tippy top, best under 40 list
Stormin' the gate, ensurin' the bass, scorchin' ladies
******* sore in torso and face
Get at me with savages, have a pack of Apache
Indian pack of ****** who don't give a **** if we nasty as flatulence
As a matter of fact, your swagger is tacky
So see me you can't like Crunchy Black catchin' a taxi
Back like lateral passin'
With that *******' gladiator manner of rappin'
As an addict I let percocets and xannies relax me
Fall back if your paddies is ****, please
OF, **** that's all I got
From my bigger brother Frankie to my little brother Tac
From that father figure Clancy to that skatey ***** Naks
Shredding down 'Fax, Wolf Gang run the ******' block
Storefront, knee tat
Book cover is the same lettering on lettermans and cotton socks
And grip tape, and my shoes
Um, I was 15 when I first drew that donut
5 years later, for our label yea we own it
I started an empire, I ain't even old enough
To drink a ******' beer, I'm tipsy off this soda pop
This is for the ****** in the suburbs
And the white kids with ***** friends who say the n-word
And the ones that got called weird, ***, *****, nerd
Cause you was into jazz, kitty cats, and Steven Spielberg
They say we ain't actin' right
Always try to turn our ******' color into black and white
But they'll never change 'em, never understand 'em
Radical's my anthem, turn my ******' amps up
So instead of critiquing and *******, being mad as ****
Just admit, not only are we talented, we're rad as ****
*******
OFM, bangin' on your FM
Gnaw, 2011, yeah, Golf ****

In your Garden

There’s a chance that I am immortal,
And so at night I climb and decorate trees,
My pale limbs hanging dangerously
Over wind and cold water seas.

I have found other worlds in your garden,
While crawling through the tangled leaves,
My crown fell down a hole that led to
A land of compultion thieves.

I hold my knees to my face and whistle,
My pink hands shiver, tippy toes freeze,
I pick roots of ice growing, biding my time
Till the moon lets me hang from trees.

Over time frost grew between my blue hair,
And sharp cold raindrops tickled my feet,
I’m still waiting for you to remember me
In a garden playground wrapped in sleet.