Smoke Rings and Absinthe

Some/times when I’m feelin' hopeless I just pull out the pad,
and / scribble with the heart of the homeless and the soul of the mad. /
I spell smoke rings and absinthe, / expel folk rhythms and abstinence,
and excel at outlining the absence of what i used to call passion. /
An expert at self-manumission, I got my vision on a mission /
and I’ll leave you wishin’ for that intermission intercission / transmission /
to put a stop-and-frisk on this / verbal perdition. /

Y’all, I can’t take much more of this /plugged up /
in every orifice / I debase my flow /
with the whorishness, / USB ports filled /
y’all need more ordinance. /

But who hasn't ever seen HD porn / in the retina
4K glow glorious? /

I be of the screen / with the double vision. /
to leave you wishin’ for an intermittent intermission intercission transmission. /
Binocular optics go and capture the image, /
it's both obscene and serene,
is it salvation or a scheme? 
A dollar or a dream. Does it matter
if I take what I / need with cream /
or use the infrared beam? /

Sometimes I don't know, so I go rococo with the flow /
and like a Ghost in the Shell, dart in / for the fatal blow
like Motoko / Kusanagi,
with a small squad / we vanquish your whole army. /

But transhumanists are movie shit, quite extremely dubious /
your Rubicon is looming / yet i bet you’ll still want grooming. /
The brain is gay for pelvic movement
the flesh is set for gross confusion
the soul is braced for its illusion
the skin's got blues from a contusion. /
Putting it all aside
life ain’t a smooth ride, so muster up some pride /
and drop your faith by the road-side,
no one’ll take it / - you afraid to go naked?
Afraid to hug hatred? Afraid to flow aimless /
like a water droplet down to the basest /
ocean of serenity and commotion, /
the Dollar Tree and sons of Odin?
who’ll catch you holdin', Holden?

No stress, it’s just immutable, golden, / boasting
on the mic, it’s irrelevant right?
Well, / my slang stays elegant
and rugged as an elephant
shot for my tusks and now there’s hell to pay. /
So i think its time to wrap it up / and say
so long, farewell, aveetesay good day.

aabc

alphabetic analyst

i bomb / your / city / with the soul
of a pragmatist,

putting the boot to your door and

four to the floor to

achieve a high score /
start a new war,
make it like busta said,

 "gimme some more".