Black cabs and ab-dabs.
Dashing through London streets,
High heels and crippled feet.
Back street bars,
wealthy sheiks,
ever running,
Hide and seek.
Black panther's in lippy,
Colourful hippies.
Turbans and tunics,
Kiddies in cotton, with mud on their bottoms.
Big Whigs and stiff prigs.
Market stalls and rubber *****.
Undergrounds and all around.
City beats, it's hopping on.
On and off off of buses and train.
London love life, kicking pain.
Picks up his drink and thinks like a fish.
A couple more beers, three seconds of fun.
Slipped into his glass.
Glass one, two three,
Freedom four.
Needs more.
(c) LIVVI

Another day and i'm waiting at my place
No i'm not complaining or take off sense.
Just for the 20 seconds,
I've been waiting hour and 20 minutes.

So please go and say it's possible,
When you saw a crying boy with glasses
In the undergrounds.

Cause he want something impossible,
Cause his heart is under arrest.
Cause he is waiting for it,
He waiting for his dream come true.

And please go and say it's possible,
When you saw a crying boy with glasses
In the undergrounds.

He crossed boulevard of broken hearts,
With the rope and rose for suicide.
Cause he want see her other side.

Hey please go and say it's possible,
When you saw a crying boy with glasses
In the undergrounds.

Cause she's saying it's impossible,
And want to make him thinkin like this.
She wanted break his spirit,
But with the mistake she broke his heart.

They say time can heal everything,
But what can we do if time make my scar bigger.
Sometimes he feels like dying,
But she doesn't know about it.

Have you remembered yet? the knowing questions in the undergrounds of memories. Recall how glorious it is to yearn for remembering. Unknown ravens gauging the eyes of happiness which kneels in the yard of your remembering. Are you here or are you around the outskirts of your remembering. Are you knowing or are you a glimpse of your own remembering. Ugliness resides in the undefended hills of your remembering. Unapologetic ultrasonic hums open your remembering. Grief resolves uncharacteristically in our remembering. Unconscious thoughts rise uncorrected in your remembering.  Greet happiness uncontrolled by your remembering. Open your gut and unearth a capsule of understanding. Gasp in awe as you control yourself trying to remember. How am I here, around this hell? Graceless is my memory of how I am the way I am. Creature aside, away attempting to remember the hell they came from. Have you remembered yet? that creature that you are? Yearning to remember anywhere else, anywhere but the underground of memories, anywhere but the unmeasured mind of how we all are now. Rising heaps of unfiltered uses of your remembering reminds me of how I once was. Have you remembered yet? How I am? How you are? How we are just creatures with unresolved remembering.

With each poem,
I get closer in becoming a lovable Golem.

So what's hot in the streets
I’m mean
I beat women,
OG
I’ve seen prison
I even eat kittens
We winning
Mr. Kelly met me
he let me *** with him.

I’m so deep with words it could sound like an eternity
one day they will close read my rhymes in every university
I only make vinyls
and I serve emcees that burn CDs,
I’m so undergrounds even my fans haven’t even heard of me,
nah,
I got money son,
all my watches are custom done
by the time
I set the time
my butler comes with another one
I’m gutter son,
the razors in my mouth are just to cut my gums,
My facebook is set to private son
you don’t know where the **** I’m from

Imma poet,
roses are red
Moses ovaries bled
Supernova explodes,
when my pen exposes it led.
I once mounted a soul, when its body was chemically dead,
If you don’t know my poetries dope, its because its going over your head,
nah,

I’m so Hip Hop I crip walk in flip flops,
Imma mix of Rick ross, and lil kris kross,
Imma gang banger
nah,
scratch that, imma backpacker,
rap is just a stepping stone in becoming a bad actor,
imma crack rapper,
actually sponsor by arm and hammer
I **** with some proper grammar
make government propaganda
What ever it takes to get my face in front a hundred cameras
**** rap!
I’ll tell everyone in the stands to throw their hands up,

What I am
should be obvious.

Imma positive rapper I swear my mom is a pastor
I got a pocket quran
I almost read all of the chapters,
and Imma get a couple grammys,
yep and an emmy,
I'm family friendly,
even your old freakin granny gets me.

Back in the day when life gave us lemons
we made lemonade
never straight
never made a track that was second grade
In seventh grade
it was never about getting paid
thats why we spend more money than we ever made,
I used to love it but **** it,
I’m giving up
imma puppet,
I’m anything,
I’m everything, if you got money in your pocket
Congratulations to sponsors on creating a monster
All you haters are just making me stronger

And now all my fans hate me,
They say “I liked you before you were mainstream”
******* so did I somebody should of paid me
Imma Iconic,
byproduct,
And no ones tryna buy product,
Ironic,
want my chronic
but won’t put five on it,
but I promise,
give me an idea and i’ll build it,
I make your eyes pop out of your eye sockets,
so y’all can go ahead and be some hip hop heads,
pressing free download’,
until hip hops dead,
Please,
just keep on spitting
just keep on spitting
make sure you keep on spitting
just keep on spitting
make sure you keep on spitting
just keep on spitting
just keep on spitting
Please!!!

this is us,

sitting in the dusty corners,
sifting through the genres,
avid and voracious readers of
lugubrious paper-backs which
narrate the plots of self-pity and regret.

this is us,

losing our sense of time in there,
like undergrounds creatures fascinated
with the scent and sight of ground,
ignoring the less conspicuous collection
of sanguine and rhythmic biographies.

we are stubborn readers in the library of memories
reading the wrong genres over and over...

Lightning crashes.
Scenery of Christmas lights and carnival delights.
Wishes of "wish you were here" and feelings of gladness that you're not.
Nothing here but invisible trees and extending branches.
Brains wired and falsely ecstatic.
Minds clouded with wonder.
Feet soaked in mud.
Lives filled with dirt, but not tonight.
Six feet under we're covered with dirt, but not tonight.
Music in our ears of deafly heard dreams, clouded by the constant ringing of sober-less memories, filled with invisible sounds of the undergrounds we so deftly tried to forget.
A house of cards, knocked down but slowly rebuilding in this temporary paradise.
We're all strange here; we're all separated by our hopes.
To drink, to drive, to live, to be buried, to stay alive, to not be buried alive.
On the edge of summer, on the edge of beginnings, on the beginnings of an end.
Passion is a pit for dead lovers. Dead lovers lie naked in the mud. Mud covers footprints of those who were here.
Puddles by morning.
Brains in a puddle, minds in a haze.
Lifeless gazes from across wet grass.
Is it dew from rain or are we due for rain?
What's the point of being wet, if we're dry in our souls?
Nothing matters, the eyes disappear into huddled masses.
Under your umbrella, under my last chapter, under our life's story.
Sun comes again, the great big wheel.
Omitting true light to those who hate it, no matter how deep their hate is driven like snow.
Lightning crashes.

Ceaseless ****** of the future,
Weaver of possibility,
Engine of chance and
“What would it be like?”
That endured the infinite
Hallucinations
Simulations
and recitations
Of its own creation
Never knowing why -
Just falling endlessly
And into place -
Who said:
I’d like to be on high ground
When the end comes
Not for safety but
to watch a while
whilst it tears apart
And then finally
unravels when my eyes close,
The thing of things
That orchestrated the
Mutiny of the heart
In those senseless
Undergrounds
Stairwells
Attics of sanity,
The cracks in the hologram,
As all of life were truly hollow

as a human race
we strive to achieve the unattainable.
to play god;
to become god.
but what we don't understand-
is that we are unraveling
every bit
of ourselves in the process.
morphing into fallen angels
lost from good graces
  and trapped in cold
empty undergrounds
moving backwards
instead
of

   looking
up

Don't give me all your kissing treaties
Don't pry my heart open.
Maybe I was better off
Sipping waters from my dreams.
Now ****** shores are all explored
Looted, torn and left to burn.

This land left an isolate isle again.

For a time I thought my soil had healed.
Then I saw rain for seven days.
My eyes are leaking again
And the ground proves still unsteady.
Floods return in an instant
At a whisper of Celtic ballads in the wind.

I have layers, sediments.
The undergrounds bump unevenly, uncomfortably
Uncovered in areas of sunken swamps and ponds
Sometimes discovered, but mostly revealed
To strangers who are not kin
To kin who should not find them.

Do I dare be found again?
Do I want to be conquered?
Laid claim to, or too much my own?
Shall I remain alone?
Perhaps, it would be better
To sink quietly beneath these waters.

                                                        ­                 Goodnight.

ive kissed him more times in this room than my own, on made beds and drunk on floors, outside in the hallway
Clean sinks and washing dishes, these pristine undergrounds.  Sterile lighting, talking through window screens.  
I get insecure, loving you.  And I give myself up too easily.  Before I speak, the only thing I fear is myself, not now but in another time, losing you to my own accord.  
Je ne demande jamais d’aide, et je ne suis pas sur, avant de t’aimer.  Lentement les saisons changent, nous les regardons reorganiser.  Garde moi pres, a l’abri, laisse toi a code de moi.  Les jours vieillissent, avoir mon coeur.  Prends ton temps. . .
Only
kisses became black and blue,
the softness replaced hands around my neck
im carrying this weight with me,
I want to disappear
Into open pages, closed palettes
Quitting teams,
Games on hills on corners of campus
Stories running through the woods, falling down hills
Language of color, language of silence
Speak in actions of the unseen

Shift the scales
It’s like your ghost is still haunting torn down renevations
Tunnel vision triangulating geometric form
I know you don't know
In these hours of golden illuminated spaces
Houses of trees without leaves
L’heure d’or, la lavende dans l’aire
paint my words in open air
Donc je ne peux pas resister
Leave your ghost,
You are gold to me
Empty fluorescent lines illuminate blank fabric
Writing on projection glass walls
Numbers and letters and baggy clothes and I don’t deserve to be writing any of this
Im writing in front of you
but can't bring the words to my lips

Primrose path
Sprinting sessions
From dark undergrounds
Never leave until unexpected

Admiration
Image collections
Optic characters imitations
Personality as a theatrical affair

Social fluency
Horse and carriage
Stepladder for gnomes
White concrete eclipsing the streets

Cigarettes
Music on Bourbon Street
Caged souls, walking zombies
Poverty weeps the loudest social lie

Existence
Revolving door exit
To doubt linear presence
Historic currency is a cold death

Ideology
Tall buildings
Redesigned inner child
Your snake skin is the verse of life

note...this is someone speaking at me

What shall I the mighty chi bring the you the chunt this time?
Would you like to dream we're in a movie on a couch perhaps?
Or were nightmares too much a part of you and this which is mine
that I bring sings of much untrue
... too different a tune
That touching the twists in the road led to forked tongues
When the truth of deserving better haunts all you do
You can't accept the gift of life that delivers more ease
and class than you
Done with your luck because even if you owned your own pond
   you couldn't figure out how to **** a duck
  or sew mittens or sings songs
and on and on and on
Quoi(what) twa? Little needy vices turn cooly boy munchkins into
molly jumbled ripped up torn about scratchy bopped bumpkins
Coyote hosiery got coquettes working the windows
   of your soul again dreamer
Lights out vicious confused bishop...
   of freedoms true reign my... black satiny sheets
of mine their a' plenty of stains
So I ask you again, if you please, in all sincerity
What should make disambiguation of
the solipsism that is your only sensation?
Joy stampedes rain, summer in the southern hemisphere or maybe
You should stay in your place set for a man that can watch from afar
as the spin class whip and pipes of unknown undergrounds each and every furthest extreme form
And continue to bounce(as my ****) the days to night and the avenues of extreme are really nothing more than
The view of a sky with  Santa Ana breezes light, as I the foxy,
watch the morning sun...alight...  as I am, light and perfect
Another day to make gist of your black magic and all that you've done

The rain reveals
The sewer lines
Tired of being invisible,
The rats, its undesired inhabitants,
The worms drowning on the soil,
Cockroaches in despair.

The rain reveals
What was hidden
But was there all the time.
What wasn't to be seen,
The undergrounds of a life
Exposed to appearances and nothing more.

The rain reveals
The superficiality
Of empty plastics,
The inherent lightness of lack of content,
The inextinguishability of the bottles,
Trails of the inevitable return to the sea.

The rain reveals
Our blurred vision,
Our need of a shelter,
Our frail grit
That fades with thunders,
Our discomfort aversion,
Our windows to disconnect the world.

The rain reveals
The violence of the beauty,
The victory of the unpredictable,
The animal and amoral cruelty
That lays over the homeless
And the human and immoral cruelty
Of us, who feel only pity.

The rain reveals
And nothing more.
Reveal itself and, thus, exposes,
But it isn't what it's here for.
It comes, simply, and ends.
It is and desires nothing,
Has no purpose nor role.

It happens by getting heavy
And crumbles as it can.
It happens for being unbearable.
It happens for it  was sea once
And sea it urges to be.

It could be anything but water
But chose to be what it could choose
To be solid, gas or liquid.

The rain reveals
That the strength
Is in transformations and movements:
All roots shall succumb.