What am I good for,

If not for the rhyme and rhythm 

Of long winded defecations,

And high-spirited epigraphs.

Nothing,

I'm nothing,

No different from the hollow dessert

Of the shallow desert of my mouth.

Just like always,

In the willful frame, the naive canvas

Whose rise is greater than the run.

What now? 

What's left for me now that 

Honor and humanity have fallen,

Prey to insanity and profanity.

Stumbling over makeshift delusion,

What a callow cremation. 

Ass crisps, long since burned out, 

A pire in a drought. 

Vapor in a phantom rain. 

Left to ponder, train or feign.

It seems I've forgotten,

How paths diverge and break apart,

How a memory becomes a soreness,

The lick of leather, skin, or unwavering inanimance.

The embrace of balls of fire and bitter gales,

The will of affliction and ignorance.

The sight of the footsteps left behind.

1000 years have passed me by,

I must be the oldest thing in the room

To feel such spite for the living, 

Who only live within misgiving and die busy,

Like sand gazing at castles in the sky. 

I don't need this, 

This philosopher's legacy of

Altercations in intelligence and 

Fallacious sensations in 

Bogus bouts for wanton fashion.

Enough of split breath and perilous podiums.

I just want to belong where I'm standing, 

Out of sight, out of speculation, 

Out of condemnation.

Let me sleep in my generation,

And hold my tongue but for

Habitual motions and straightforward elation.

Just like the denseness and darkness,

Of my manifestation.

Where sentience and dissolution,

Become one.

You can't leave home with no wave

No goodbye

Nothing

You can't expect things to be the same.

You don't even know your name

Who are you?

Who am I?

Stripped of all identify,

Stripped of every sense, call and hint of me

All for a simple sense of security

All to make life obscure for me and

Give all privileges of birth

To those who make the world their own

In the name of greed, seed, and the false Pretense that they were meant to lead

Under the cross and spangled banner of righteousness

We persevere

And hope to overcome

These fears and truths

That interlope, grope, and choke.

With jokes, drinks, and body

Anything to stop the hurt, the weight of all The things.

A conk, a dance, a night, a fight, new pants, A hustle, or a dream.

The endless gamble of lives and money that Are cast away with ignorance and Desperation.

It's no, consolation that I am seen as the frog

At the bottom of the well

Surrounded by the project known as

Man-made hell, always with the inclination To croak, not because I started the fire but Because I was born already blackened by The comely flames of prejudice and pain, Lighting every house and home

For the present that all condone as well as The past that each one owns.

You have to want to

Live for more than to blow the breeze

There's more,

Than hoods to lie in,

Streets to die in,

Restaurants to dine in,

The air around you to sigh in.

There's more,

Than what only lasts through May

Than what can only be held, felt, or seen

To cherish in the day.

Hot tamales,

All around me

Hot tamales,

All surround me!

So inviting and attractive

The small and hard and at the same time a chEwy candy

The kind that you either bite and devour

1..2..3 like the tootsie roll tootsie pop owl.

Or suck on a while... to get the flavor out..

Because you like the hotnessss and that bit of sweetnessss that comes with it.

Maybe because you decided to take a chance, candy and hot things, are your thing

Then again you might be wondering why this small-red-piece of SUGAR is being compared to one of the greatest meals of your culture and heritage.

Tch

What is it that manes them so damn hot?

Is it everything poured into them throughout Their short and linear lives?

Is there some particular ingredient that sets Everything off like a sizzling pan of something smothered in hot oil?

Is it the great vengeance and furious anger Of the tamales at being born into this world To be enjoyed and spat out at the will of the Children and even bigger children.

Maybe it's the anticipation, simply believing that whatever comes will be blazin hip hop and r&b.

I see them all the time, and yet

If none cared for them they would otherwise go unnoticed, dismissed as just another

other trivial matter.

Isn't life already hot enough? I'll say

With all the things and all the stuff?

It's people like me that make life for the hot ones rough

Pain

Is a four letter word

Distress, grief, Torture, agony, or hurt

A pulsing vein of putrid disdain

Pain

Is the succor to my existence

A base mongrel in my

Lofty edifice

Pain drags me back

To reality

To kindness and brutality

Lavishness and frugality

Ordinary and extraordinary

To all the attachments and consciousness

PAIN

Drives the confines of time and life itself to

Dilate, develop, and swell to

Unimaginable absences

The unknown to become known,

The young to be grown,

And all to furnish their own.

The legacy of rain falling down,

Deeper than bone, down

I feel it, down!

Piercing the tissue of pure imagination

With no inclination of stopping

It never stops dropping

The proud cloud of ignorance and desperation

And yet the blood and sweat

That make or break and shake a nation

For growing a name

For nothing to gain

The destruction of a life

The edge of a knife

The pinnacle of strife

Will this pain ever end?

The world may never know

I see him as I sit,

How cute.

His glasses, that combed forward hair,

As if the wind itself is behind him every step.

Just my size too, perfect.

Wonder how he feels about other guys?

What to say?

Will we meet again another day?

Will his sunrise pink lips ever grace my

Vision with their, full, slightly crusted beauty?

The beat goes on,

Billie Jean,

Wish he was my lover.

Why haven't I said anything?

The silent gazes that rebound off windows

And plastic and would surely pounce,

At a moments notice at my outward

Pick-up lines and menagerie eyebrows.

Maybe he's nervous too? Did he,

want to say something to me?

Maybe it's my eyes, or the downward curse Of my face screaming to the world,

I ain't that one to fuck with.

The bus goes on.

Damn.

Why didn't I say anything?

What a GLORIOUS future I had envisioned For the two of us,

He had a nice butt too.

I wonder if he even noticed me sitting there.

The guy in the black with the sharp,

Hard stare.

I'll probably never know, and he'll

Probably be just another daydream.

I walk,

Who knows where.

Not me,

Because I really don't care.

Home boy walks up to me,

And says with a smile:

HWhat's good?

No what's up,

Or hello, hey,

How's it goin,

Wassup, or hiya.

They ask me:

Have you eaten enough today?

How much have you been through

In the past week?

Is your family ok?

Do you need to talk?

Still in school?

Need anything?

Cops bothering you?

Still working?

Anybody need some ruffin' up?

Is it too much?

It's not easy,

Surrounded on all sides by

Someone else's land of liberty.

The land I'll never see,

Because I was born as I am,

Me.

I could cry like my heart desires,

But the screets didn't raise a punk.

Neither did my parents.

And so we each reply with the

Usual 4 worded compliment.

"Same old same old"

Y'know?

Rather not trouble one another,

With even more junk.

A silent reminder,

There's nothing we can do.

How can we carry on,

When the weight of two worlds?

Maybe if we believed a little more.

But life is good

As they say,

It's just another day in paradise

Another day to live

And walk forward into

What may come.

It was a good day

Is it beating,

Or just the wind

Coming through?

What wills the flame

To twist and bend?

To begin and end

The low, pulsing roar

Of ravenous slaughter

This pungent stench

Putrid and sweet,

Sticky, dark, and red all over.

I can taste it..

Memories etched in every drop

And splatter.

Of pain, of you,

Distraught.

Being,

Being,

Strewn upon the cold, hard, ground.

Like fresh crops upon the world over.

If only t'were my chest,

You varnished and vanished,

I wish it could have been me!

That cut you open and saw the beauty

Rising and falling beneath your breast.

O' that salacious grave of ravaged marrow

Holds even in eternal respite a comeliness

I fear will haunt my inclination long after

Your tears and torn cheers wash away.

They took what fertile dreams

Pierced my anima,

Yet gave my animal more than your

Human subsistence would ever

Give rise.

YES!

I have seen the Deus Ex Machina!

Ace, in every regard and seam.

The ribs, the collarbone, the thighs, the carotid, the teeth, the eyes, the heart, the ankles, and

THE BLOOD on my hands.

I am no savior, no avenger, no defender.

I am

A

Monster, devil, beast, creature, savage, brute, a lout that you scorn and detest.

Who carries my own behest within

Goodness and sin.

That

I am

I am that,

A primordial man, a demon, whatever you'd like to say.

But there's no shame in this game and playing with pain

Is who

I am

Yo, I'm a traveling magician and Happen have found a dollar in Your hand, you can keep it, no Really! It's ok.

Afternoon Miss,

Need any help?

Yeah, it can be hard raising a kid.

Everything ok?

You look as if you've lost a bid.

But please don't be mad, he was.. Just fixing a mistake, learn he did.

Wish my kids were that smart, Although they are all cats.

I have things to magic, and places To make farts, so here's my card for A rainy day, at your service,

Captain Stray

Death, dying, giving up.

Acknowledging that there is no hope or chance, giving up entirely.

Refusing to back down isn't failing,

Fighting for what lies ahead,

That's the opposite of being dead.

You don't need street cred, a home or a bed, cheese or bread.

You don't have to know the taste of victory so warm and tender, maybe shocking or unbearable at first, but it settles with time and flows like golden nectar down the throat.

Failure is the sad and defeated look upon the face of one who has surrendered all to fate.