hopeless, i roll with some dope shit spoke swift
the way water flows post-diluvial
and folks look, sitting on the banks
while uprooted oaks drift,
and teens feel a touch of the ageless
hocus-pocus, while they smoke dirt spliffs.
that is to say, i’m trailing
the oldest flow scriptural, burning up my body
to transcend the individual.
salt-runs on my cheeks as if
the sailor’s ritual
lifted me off-decks into the whale’s bowels,
ain’t jonah, i’m no job, i just howl
whirling in my wind, breath stagnant
and foul, like my slave ancestors
under egyptian whips, i slather shit,
pyramid-builder, i eat bitter,
fill my belly up with my parent’s money
every night before dinner
and remove my own liver,
cold-hearted like kissinger,
check upon my eyes where pity doesn't glimmer;
hope i contain
my ways like the lion
in winter, hungry,
chewin’ on my money,
whole life a dung heap --
ain’t no way the reaper’d outrun me:
i gun my soul like a harley--
i’d hardly falter if i had to
put my grip upon the shottie
and use the moss-berg; all those shells
layin’ out your body.
you’re lookin’ at a half-dead man,
ain’t it obvi? ous ?
squeeze my ambergrist the naughti-est,
meaning there’s flecks, and nuggets
of gold in my piss
gut a cunt with my thalamus, calamunous,
my game locked down like
a photo in an amulet,
peasants make they sacrifice
to volcano-god rhymes,
i receive virgin minds:
kindling to light
an orange fire bubbling;
calmly burning up you troubling
emcees who deceive yourselves
that you don’t know nothing.
all i know holmes, is socrates, birds and bees,
overwhelmed by suffering,
it’s another things:
you under him.
my hypothesized boasts a whole ‘nother thing,
y’all pesticide, i’m Rachel Carson writin’ Silent Spring,
my pen, the mic, my voice hoarse
tellin’ stories like Horace
to make your brain porous
as end-of-the-day Hector,
drag both your lobes with the horses,
i fool all your hordes,
they transform to rotting corpses
and i donate your children
your mothers become whores, diehard fans demand more
the hard-core ones know how the lyric goes.
g i swear only ever with the clan would i hold heat
‘cause they swing swords shinobi
thus my destiny
clear as a glass sea, homie--
permanently solo ‘cause there ain’t no luke
or wookie, just rookies.
cookie monster, all i see is cookies.
my wordsmith hammers out
on the stage i handle it.
no one ever said
to me, “control dis”
so unlike horsemouth in rockers
i grow my own, roll my own and smoke it
and i hope you choke on it.