"THE SMOKING GUN 2"

"THE SMOKING GUN"

THIS IS THE PREMIER .. PREMIER .. PREMIER OF THE “THE SMOKING GUN” !!! .. SO ENJOY
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LOVE, PEACE & AQUARIUSPOETRY

ROCKFAIRY ...

//Navho naivest navigating through skeleton keys to my fathers rib cage to save his heart/April macerating as an immigrant/I'm worth the penny/Oxy-plural-ronic hypothetical pictorial depictions of reality/Judos Priest knife in the back/Communistic vengeances of the vegaterians of the world/Siping the $18 dallors cup coffee/I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow/VanGuard misstress/Blowing off while looking up towards The Sistine Chapel/There are no Sabbiths for hammers addicted to coke//

21 VARIATIONS ...

1.
Capacity of language.
Strength is measured in numbers.
Prosperity is currency of profits.
Humbled minds the nature of those stricken poverty.
Scripture finds voice through the hypocrites.
Grievance false promise.
Recrimination proclaims settling shortcuts.
Leisure over journey.
Ambition stands to gain interest in crisis’s.
When cynics fail, breathing diminishes.
Chasing pavements.
2.
I am programmed to fettle with
Honest tones, saxophones & jazz bourbon flutes will bring
Trumpets flare glare of the last judgment
That intimates suicide.
This scripture in memory is not without
Pre-established harmony.
Light of the burning enthalpy.
Pledging having observed, observations
The same unaffected, un biased, un bribable, un-frightened,
Innocence.
The formidable contender
3 rounds against the constant contradictions, my ego
Heard in solitude.
Culture of the eater
I am the beast complex.
Font 12 Times New Romans,
Sip, savor, repeat.
Breath lacerations.
I took a walk around the world to ease
My troubled mind,
Hallucinating holocaustic paintings.
3.
Mindslaughter, in the first degree.
I’ll put myself in your shoes,
But understand
That then you’ll be in mine.
It be me helping you,
Helping me, killing two birds with one stone.
Play blind man, walk with the sheapred.
Slicing your jugular,
Bows & arrows of the Navaho
Chants to the Ashanti.
Free from desire you realize all the mystery.
Caught in desire you see only the manifestations.
The cache,
A crazed war widow throwing her baby down a well.
I am authentic and well constructed.
Part habit, part superstition
And yet
Round 1 goes to the affected
Fertile creatures comforts,
Of grotesqueries and cheap thrills.
Barking phantoms of the mounting stains hopes.
Taking a pair of scissors
& gouging my eyes out.
A heartless orthodoxy.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Bifurcated fork in the road.
4.
21 variations of my insanity.
I want to be above all the thorns.
Opinions made me a politician.
A zebra
Black with whites stripes
Or white with black stripes.
Dividing words at the end of lines.
I am fifty common errors.
A curiosity seeker, a curious seeker,
Not seeking curiosity, but seeking to satisfy my curiosity.
Preying for so long, the answer walked by.
A period of amnesty.
Not trusting in my private thoughts.
Shaped like a 9 volt barratry, I am the Energizer bunny.
Mufesa’s Simba.
Before & after, living in my after before I knew it.
Paralyzed in the mouth,
I ring bells,
This parishioner
Lynched Meryil, of Meryil Lynch.
Noosed the ball of Wall Street.
Chastising implications
Serve rule to remedy
One act of rebellion,
Dubbed un-humankind
Subtexts plays sync between double meanings.
Galactic federation
Intercosmic relief, planets between stars
Celestial signs of zodiac,
An April baby, a fools bad luck in the bicentennial year.
5.
Mirror mirror on the wall
Whose reality, is ever so true at all.
Red wine, black cherry.
Russian Roulette isn’t as fun without a gun.
The Pocker face.
Ace of spades, clubbed full houses
Queens are pairs
Kings tilt slots, jokers of gesture
The game 21.
Peripheral vision casing stage to my blind spot.
Messiah of message, prophet among merchants.
Monarch above thieves
Sparing the unrighteous
Defiance to the victory, wrapped up in my neuroses.
The saplings goal to become a big tree.
I am the Archor Bishop of space.
Light years, an unidentified alien.
Lunar modules, mother ships, capsules.
“Take me to your leader” type shit
A heretic, a woman seeing with her own eyes.
For the foolish neither forgive nor forget.
The naïve forgive and forget.
The wise forgive but do not forget.
Things are not what they seem,
Nor are they otherwise.
Truth is an illusion, and illusions are made to be true.
Enlightened by imagining figures of light.
Reject your sense of injury and the injury itself disappear.
A jezebel, circus of centipedes.
Hard to teach an old dog new tricks,
New dog, old tricks, new tricks made relevant.
Getting kicks,
Kicking rocks while jumping off of mountains.
Saw my reflection in the river,
Drowned trying to save myself.
I am not scared of lions and tigers and bears.
I am trying to take over the world.
I think therefore I am.
I am so fucked in the mind.
Remotes are changing the channels,
& I am hearing voices.
21 Variations of voices.
Figuratively speaking making hypothetical’s pictorial realities.

PENS OF CRUCIFIXION ....

Exhibit#1.
Similes conjured up,
Metaphors arrested for subscription.
Alliteration affiliates Haiku’s,
To the regularity of a stanza.
Spoken word brought to rest,
Guilty verdict by the jury of judgment.

My pen is spiritually identically mathematically
statically speaking,
Turning 21, exceeding its life expectancy.
Different from yours,
It is still ignored by the 4 doors,
By the dwells of imagination.

sand script shores shells shelves,
Havenly unbalanced.
Peace on Mars,
Intergalactic grammatical fringe we yell through
The planets.
Light years, clinggons to trekkes
With the eve to new year,
In walks the bicentennial.

The canopy of a sunken corridor.
Running backwards I run into them.
Briefly contemplative.
Scornfully indentured.
Heaven, a thousand leaves below sea level.

Exhibit#2.
Mortification, pervasively taboo mounting trepidation.
Repressed hysteria, monogrammed,
Perplexed bewilderment, improvised.
Haphazardly.
My heart beat, beats beats,
The heart beat,
Of the beating drum,
Beating off beat,
To bring forth creation.

Lilly’s of lavender held brink to crucifixion
The biblical fuck artist I am,
Blasphemy
To my own damnation,
Condemnation to eternal sin.
Burning in pit fires of hell for the Swat-stickers,
I rebuked.
Refuted, reputed, dis-rooted, disinherited, the use of youth by the misguided.

Once coveted.
This display of depravity, perverted perversions.
Christian theologians

A black man is president, restitution is paid by
The voters that placed him in
Office.
Crawfish,
Burning on my grandmamma stove
As she yells
Grandbaby write this.
don’t hide this.
Hiding has no bliss.
Church is not the 4 walls, 2 windows you prey in.
Church is that of but,
As she pointed to this [Her Heart].
Religion is its own keeper.
Poetry is that of mine.
In hindsight,
I’ve hijacked sight keeping truth as a secret.
To dense the era of my ways, find ways
For me to hallucinate this.

Exhibit#3.
I am a riddle wrapped inside cryptic mysteries,
Wrapped inside my own neuroses.
Writing like tonight will fight tomorrow.
Writing until my words blend into my speech,
As I become a walking speech impediment.
My pens have stroked the stripes off of zebra’s,
Placing them upon
New school addicted poets Addias.
With its robust brush clokes timing symmetry.
Writing off CNN,
Traveling from venue to venue.
Accused of being recluse-d.
A poet whose pain gives way to passiveness.
Calculating behind equation.
I wanted them to look inside their souls,
So they could see my life, looking back at them
Cross sighed, crossed eyed,
Between cross lines of a cross wide
Tunings of millennium rolling over points,
Calibrated enemy.
The words I breath will replace my last breath.

Fantasy’s cant be called day dreams,
And day dreams cant be called the night dreams,
Because I day dream during the night,
And I have my night dreams during the day.
Reciting my dreams,
I can no longer tell when I’m sleeping.
Lines drawn down on blank battlefields,
Shooting three holes to the left side.
Inked of crucifixion.
penned of crucifixions,
I find this country guilty of mindslaughter, in the first degree..

It is us VS. death.
And I tell death itself,
To marry itself, until death do them part.
So that the act of poetry may rest in peace.

THE RAMBLINGS OF A SYNONYMOUS STATISTIC ...

1.
Preview pre-exilic pre-biological preceptory predacity of the
Pre-consciousness,
Pre-positioning,
Pre-syndicated, syndicating the demise of my fatality.
Preachifying,
Pre-Columbian,
Before Christopher Columbus; founder of our nation & seven seas. That is//that said
Pre-adaptation, pre-adopted,
When the adoption of the ramblings of a synonymous statistic
Were finalized.
Pre-cautionary,
Precedence, precedes present day,
Precluded, pre-destined predictions,
As a chime-time Afro-Centric gypsy,
Of nomadic lifestyle.

2.
Metaphors, I go for meta-fives,
Going 4 times as fast, as I went once before.
Reasoning behind logic.
Calculating behind equations.
The black cat calling the cattle black.
A suitor trying to find his prostitute in the middle of winter.
Why she is cold and starving,
Buried underneath her burning bush,
As her burning bushes,
Is burning berry colored cum stains,
Holding no merit to track the DNA too.
But this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
Vegetated body and mind.
Wrong for the right reasons,
Your right for the wrong reasons.
Essential human wisdom is rare
For a collective of perspectives.
Scratching below the surface.
Trick-or-treat down the phone aisle if you’re
Traveling on Halloween.
Necessity is the mother of invention.
The devils army grows as we speak, as the words are being read, as when written.
Past rhetoric and symbolism.
Peace on Mars.
Fervent critics decry as the epitome of a system
That denied adequate challenge to demotion.
First trip to death house

3.
Justice delayed is justice denied.
The rule of law.
I speak to me,
How can you be mad,
Who else would you rather speak to me,
Besides me.
Tears caught in my throat,
Regurgitating stands as my way to cry.
Why wait until tomorrow, when there is a today.
An o-mage to “FUCK YOU”
Repenting intuitions,
Defiance.
If education is the key, they’ve changed all the locks.
He spoke of
The Klu Klux Klan, to the Crew Crush Grove.
I speak to the 6 degree of separation.
Sometimes even the beautiful palmings of male masturbation,
And well even
The female on female orgasmic affiliation.
But lets get back on track.
Lets stay on path.
Lets stick to the point.
A single garment, pulling strings.
3rd person with singular issues.
1st person spoken pluraly.

4.
A sound track to the slum village.
A sound track to a slum village?
A sound track to the ghetto village.
A sound track to the ghetto’s we live in.
A sound track to the ghetto’s that breaths to exist.
This remix, that we’ve remixed, having redone,
What’s been done. Choosing to reform, but they’ve reformed,
Reforming our refunds,
But this will re-exist
To be reincarnated.
Slap a catch chorus
Label verse 1, and verse 2,
And intro to the bridge,
We have a song.
Fuck diversity, within every entry point of the word.
Add a comma here,
A period there.
Punctuation is key within this grammar.
We have an essay.
They say,
Has just been named #1
Wait Hold On . . . .
It has just been brought to my attention
That I have signed an oath
To my own crucifixion.
Crucified
For being a biblical bible hugging spiritual fuck artist.
But this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.

5.
Faded common sense in a time of emotion.
From protest to reconciliation.
The extravagance of the backwards of it all.
Z y x w v u t s r q p o n m l k j I h g f e d c b a
A b c d e f g h I j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z
More stories then the Eiffel Tower.
As my skin allows me to see more cells
Than the sand sees sea shells.
But this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.
statistic.
statistic.
statistic.
statistic.
this is the ramblings of a synonymous statistic.

-ICAN'S OF AMERICA ...

In continuation to continue living on this pla-toe,
I call a home,
Even I must fill out this file, dot every I’, cross
Every T’.
Check one, to identify, which American am I?

… WHITE
… ASIAN AMERICAN
… HISPANIC AMERICAN
… AFRICAN AMERICAN
… OTHER // FOR ALL ELSE INBETWEEN THE SPECTUM

I’ve subscribed to the American belief of
The return to systematic separation
Of the races in our nation.
Courts of law, to courts of gesture logic
With forced focus on the integration that is.
Vague,
Mandatory and voluntary.
The piecemeal dismantling of desegregation,
The re-emergence of accountability for willful, primitive
Thinking.
This overwhelming poverty of policy
drafts to ensure equal opportunities for all Americans.
Well maybe not
For EVERY AMER -ICAN.

Unfortunately our nations useless form of self-congratulation,
Chillingly reflects on its diversity.
Unaware of our ongoing situation,
I walk ignorantly,
unread, simply,
Disenfranchised that my color represented a people.
Yet unbeknownst to me I am the walking pitter patter
Of the 70’s in addition to the 80’s.
I am the -Ican of America.


In retrospective life, smiles leaves quick.
Vows don’t mean shit,
3 words aren’t sweet no more
Palms grasp wrist once slit.
Throwing cautions to the noose, around my neck
Some scares heal easy,
Fruit forbbin, truth is given.
Born by the river,
Raised under water.
There isn’t any justice,
Its just us.
3rd eye blind,
20 20 vision in hindsight doesn’t hide sight.
Acclaimed weaving the strands of join ropes.
So here I stride to fill my file,
Cross my T’s, and dot every I.
I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for an -Ican of America that I Am not!!

KATRINA LYRICS ...

I am not Dnagerous; I am Danger.
I am not Genocidal; I am Genocide.
I am David with the sling shot defeat by Rock.

Having the ability to forgive & move on, is
A virtue I am a strained with.
My anger is void, my hatred is detached..
I am America’s deadliest weapon. Tragedy.
Faith brushed her hand down, for where beauty once lived.
Taunted of reaction.
The ghost town of natural disaster.
Racing rafts of jazz by bourbon street,
Smoking cooked gumbo, children of the French quarter
Could never get enough to eat.
Simply blinking my eyes,
It hit, then turned around , it all was gone.
In disbelief by such power
Of the hurricane then storm.
Reduced to violence, chaos, enraged, bitter we’ll turn to crime.
Words they try to record, when defining this
New Orleans time.
Standards for victims, and refugees
A stadium is all they got,
Evacuations, sirens, were where?
Disaster had a color.
Oscar nominated performances,
But what they needed was help.
No picture snaps, cameras of deceitful lens,
Instead helicopters hovering over catching their million dollar
Shot,
Meet your days quota, never offering a guiding hand.
Listened with rapt attention. Look at me, am I not human?
Help was to come on Monday.
Help was to come on Tuesday.
7 elderly men & women drowned on Wednesday.
My boy watched his father, die slowly on Thursday.
I watched as baby bodies floated, in the seventh ward on Friday.
My house, my home was swallowed by the sea on Saturday.
America called me a thief, a looter, for trying to feed my
Daughter on Sunday.
They said help is coming Monday
1-800-4-FREEDOM
Telethons raised millions, yet I see 3 years later still I will
Live in a tailors.
Reduced to charity case, I got too much pride
I dream of turning on the tap
And getting a drink of water
Katrina done took one thing from me,
She ain’t gonn take another!

I am not Dnagerous; I am Danger.
I am not Genocidal; I am Genocide.
I am David with the sling shot defeat by Rock.

VIRGIN CURIOUSITY ...

I was curious

Curious upon the morning waking up,
The sun usually up beat.
The air usually crispy.
The wind blowing the fragrant aroma, sweet, trickle to my knees.
The alarms buzz by squealed tone, deems as a chipper reminder
That life, is once again able to wake within me.

I was curious

Curious upon walking through the hall,
Caterpillars shacking pass their cycle, into
The butterflies that now flutter as I see him.
The smile, of a hug, I steal a sniff.
My shyness, finds cover with hunger like abilities for prey.
I stoke, shadowing his shadow. Back to back.
Close shut, my eyes are able to dream.

I was curious

Curious upon the flood gates of desire, lust.
The warmth thought romanced by candle light.
Strawberries wrapped between melted chocolate,
Sand threw my toes. A pillow of comfort.
To lay the head of anxiety as t give myself away.
Zane unleashing the tiger within.
Words betweens pages, show me not the love I want, but the love

I want, but the love I yearn.
Tempted by faith, given days to wake, speak, letting my secret
Escape. There is no room within my mouth, to hide my agony,
Discomfort, for I want him only.

I was curious

Curious upon the phone call,
Voice of intimidation, address to love-land.
Embraced by charisma, infatuated by tails.
Finally, no more sorry, for I have finally …. There will finally
Just be. I knew he loved me!!

I was curious

Curious upon the dark,
Leaking, rodent infested walls,
To which now I call my jail cell.
I entered . . “why?”

Suffering sentence for a crime, fault of my own.
Capital punishment is put to shame.
I am in pain.
For death I prey, “please leave me not to suffer, but instead to
Die” I will not haunt you, nor tell a soul, for I requested this.
My fear creeps overwhelmingly shadowing all courage once found.
Bitter sweet blood, has now found its way towards where once
Trickled lied.
I curse. . .

Curious upon why “NO” was said soo low,
What once was the breath of human was now breathing hound.
Taking shape to all fear, as adolescences is slipped away.
My adolescences, she is gone; withering within regret.

I was curious

Curious upon waiting,
No calls. No letters. No smile. No hugs.
No sniff to steel. No flowers. No chocolate. No hi, no goodbye,
No apology, no confession, no need for 911 its too late.
An emergency is no longer needed, the damage is done.
Zane you lied.
No sacrificed was made upon my name for good faith.
The night and shining solider, bullshit.
The dive into the ocean, capturing the tear fallen once from
These very eyes.
Cinderella was a far cry from help, for she is only words written
To life in stories of page books,

And yet she has chapters, where was mine?
The smile of pearls, hair of black golden floss;
Flowing along the brown beaten path that was my backbone.

Still it was I who was curious.

MEMO....

When I was a child, I spoke as a child,

I understood as a child, I thought as a child;

But when I became a man,

I put childish things away.

1 Corinthians 13:11

LIFE WITH SUPERMAN...

1.
Over cold cups of coffee frowns
Eyes dripping rims of bent promise.
Pulling the edge of my lips further down,
Subtle yet stinging, waking the warmth.
Unraveling the senses of purest intentions.
Concealed and bound, craving for something more profound.
Illustration, submerges with perfection.
I taught you
Equations of breathing, suicide rain easy to forget.
Tugging on tendons and back roads,
Was the scent of your neck swelling my liver.
Ineffable of affection, desired in all direction,
Cultivated to preserve the emotional perception,
Of deepest confession.
2.
The abyss of infinity.
This sexually unadulterated mental connection,
With whispers of surreal vacations,
As you enter my lips.
Lets our minds engage, the climatic altitude of nude,
The mental sensation of conversation.
Find the fine fibers of your imagination.
Your top lip cringes.
My bottom lip quivers.
3.
Wings, fly.
Chains, break.
Armor, tightens.
Skin, sweats.
Nothing was like when fingertips met.
Hollowed minds no pleasure within mental orgasms.
Instinctive,
Gasp of sweet surrender.
Time stabs penetrates.
Synonyms collectively play coy to words need said,
Simultaneously coexist.
I was your gentle innocence you fooled with,
Eyes dripping rims of bent promise.
Over cold cups of coffee frowns.
The sweet blunders of HELLO!

I POET....

1.
Sirens blaring,
Helicopters overhead.
The rain pours, in its delusions of eloquence.
Evil is chasing me, in its unrelenting pursuits, to end this
Poem before it begins.
This poem, in the nights dawn,
Born prematurely will fail its purpose.
Wicked weevil, the briefest indulge-ment in seasonal pleasure.
Rotating bodies, confused by sound.
Human mythology, urban folklore
Light shown in dark, image exposed
Standing as jokers
Court gesture logic
Sick field of cosmic,
From school yards to college.
Primitive man and his civilized knowledge.
Systems collapse, playing blind men, and still will not
Acknowledge.
Global economy in it for self.

2.
Set bound for more mythical tale
It’s the mind that they chose
Being taught designs to stay close.
Words to a failed songs,
Hearts made to be weak.
Depth perception.
Crowned holiday.
A gossip of wind. An accident never occurring,
A tongue dipped in the unvarnished truth, of this poem.
But yet still it will fail.
Sheet music of the winds.
Natures sublime wander lines.
Fine words and insinuating appearance are seldom associated with
Its virtue.
This poem makes no sense.
This poem makes perfect sense.
It is a politician.
A Minster, to a congregation of none.
A klans-men celebrating black history 366 days.
Enthusiastic,
This poem is HIV/AIDS.
Sexual and disrespectful.

2.
A hymn, within the testaments.
This poem will end at once upon a time.
And begin living happily ever after.
It has found the cure to reality.
A constitution of circumstance,
Generosity of soy-earnestness and sincerity.
In the foot-steps of Marco polo.
It seeks to find its enemy and his enemy and shake both their
Hands. A villain. A victim. A voice. A secret.
A crazy calm, soft, warm, almost weightless.
This poem is within spectrum.
This poem is a fierce urgency of now.
This poem is a whisper of a gunshot.
Failing its purpose, this poem is failing its poet.
Failing as it is being written, as being read, as we speck.
This poem is poignant, prolific, generational.
This poem is bullshit, a copycat.
Wants to be famous.
This poem is putting a stop to this poem.
This poem is revealing too much.
It has no point.
It is repeating words found on the yellow brick road.
This poem hates it’s poet.
Its failing its poet.
There is much representation for peace in this poem.
This poem shivers for what is to come.
Sirens blaring,
Helicopters overhead,
The rain pours in its delusions of eloquence.
Evil is chasing me, in its unrelenting pursuits, to end this poem
Before it begins.
Once upon a time . . . . .
There was this poem!!

CHAPTER 2....

We have flown the air like birds and swum the sea like
fishes,
But yet to learn the simple act
Of walking the earth like brothers.”

- Martin Luther King Jr.

POETIC JUSTICE...

1.
I once heard that poets will write because they suffer.
And suffer because they write not by choice.
But by some divine given insight
For their pens will bleed for them
When their veins begin to dry.
Shelling out for the dried up wells.
At a millennium rolling over point,
Baby boomers 1 time, hippies turned parents.
The resurrection of second guessing an illusion of addiction.
Putting another load, having god cleanse our soul.
Complementing aspiration as only I can.
A generation beyond definition
Unconvinced the American dream isn’t a fiction of remedy.
Un-persuaded by the better life toe-to, tin man, and the
heartless lion
Could help us safely down the yellow brick road.
I need to write
Having no patience, to being a constant patient of constipation,
Constipated bullshit.
Flipping flowing words as only words of poetry can.
Writing in the 3rd person, for the 1st is hurting.
Battling the current currents of this poems sea.
Nothing invested in my own opinion.
2.

Spoken without conviction, and you wonder why
Children hide in adult bodies.
Living under light colored contacts.
Seeing the eyes of your children’s; children.
In the pupils of my pupils
Where did I go wrong?
Decode tears formed under eyelashes pregnant with guilt.
My ideals kiss lips of smiles.
Normal is a failure of potential.
Mishandling meticulous personas.
Cutting deep streams to my wrist, remembering, how to heal.
Believe ejaculation is the only thing that comes easily.
Spoken word artist.
Non-for-profit preacher of the sorts
Cultivate minds for more mythical tales.
Wicked theology robbing the rich blind.
Trapped in reaction.
Delusions of eloquence.
Purlieu victories.
I need to write.
Bellies Blues by way of Langston Hughes.
Whitman and Maya Angelou.
W.E.B, Emerson.
Eger Allen Poe, Ossie Davis
I once heard that poets will write because they suffer.
And suffer because they write not by choice.
But by some divine given insight
For their pens will bleed for them
When their veins begin to dry.
Shelling out for the dried up wells.
My pen runs rapids before my words escape my lips,
So I’ll suffer for my pen,
In continue of the line of legacy.

BORN TO SEGREGATED DESCRIPTIONS....

1.
Born during the depression,
Raised in the segregated south,
Against the isolating miles of flat American.
Birth of description gave new meaning by words.
From the torrent shore.
Raw souls,
Hens of hincty.
Mild frumps and downward drab,
Rapt babies in peek-a-boo webs.
The nature of unquestionable dynamism
Scorched and salted earth, barren.
Solo repents defiance to code.
Preposterous thoughts.
Solidify withered vainly.
Occult iconic crows, learn to crow.
Flat back green and easy,
Presumptuous to alter.
Euphony impels turbulence.
Colored hearing sounds darker.
Tantalized catacombs of reverberation.

2.
Fettered
scrutiny
Rendered unenforceable.
Swathed, admonishing.
Coffin stiff cotton dress.
Bitterness thick’s on.
Vehemently vulnerably vocalized.
The violins that wake me.
The Sunday stillness.
The February paean.
The ticking clocks of tumult.
Honky, nigger, wet back, chink
Oppression is not an acceptance of existence.
If only turmoil could count towards the happiness of our
children.
Thirsted complicity.
Heirs to a struggle.
To divide,
By definition,
Of use in division.
Born during the depression
Raised in the segregated south.

WITHIN A NAME...

Today my name is ODDITY.
Yesterday my name was NONENTITY.
Tomorrow my name will be affirmative action.
Pushing daises, hooked to kill.
Coiled but ready
Leave scars from the old whippings. Rippled and ridged
Blacks Bitter, they think.
Deep black laugh, like nights thunder. I image as they call.
My friends think my name MISERY.
The police think my name NIGGER.
My family thinks my name LEGACY.
Old master calls me FETCH.
Breath cut out, cut in like a saw cutting wood.
Pushing daises, hooked to kill.
Coiled but ready
Leave scars from the old whippings. Rippled and ridged.
Then he walks way. Big boots.
Black boots, but wrong kind of black.
Bad black, not good black like me and us.
Not good black, like my black.
The skin black, as the blackest ebony wood, rich and dark
And beautiful.
Blacks Bitter, They call.
I had to think to hear the breathing, of night sounds.
That raw night is the name I whisper, and echoes whisper in
Return.
A woman child,
A girl growing up quickly, with hurt and hardship.
Yet my name is of one, many be named FYREE.
I’m Fyree and the other part of my name be the same
As old master.
But is nothing.
I don’t count the back part of my name no more than I count
Old master himself.
No more than I count what they call me.
I hear and I forget.
I see and I remember.
I do and I understand.
Got myself a new name,
God’s pilgrim. Look at me, and my name. my name is Fyree.

THE QUILT....

Pathological
Disease // sick
Pathos – suffering
Suffer
Has suffered
Path to destruction
Destroy
Be // come
Becoming destroyed
On path
On track
Suffering – pathos
Logic
We reason
Being reasoned
Being reasoned
We be // come
Pathological
Pause, stop, rewind, press play, turn hindsight, to hiding
sight
Having reason, to being reasoned, the soundtracks, that
sounds
Tracks, to track sound, track and trek life.
Pause, stop, rewind, stop press play.
Pathological
Come // we be
Reason being
Reason we
Logic
Pathos - suffering
Track on
Path on
Destroyed becoming
Come // be
Destroyed
Destruction to path
Suffered has
Suffer
Suffering - pathos

Sick // disease
Pathological

1 BRAIN + 1 BRAIN + 1 BRAIN = VIEWPOINT....

I am not dangerous; I am Danger.
I am not genocidal; I am Genocide.
I am David with the sling shot defeat by rock.
A breath of vengeances,
I am death sentenced.
Ankle locked and wiped,
Having took the liberty, to take your liberty.
I am what you fear most of all.
The power
To enrich my intimidations.
Having “THEM”
Clinch the bags, like they never clinched before;
By the near sight of my glare.
Hate talk for savages;
“They” live by numbers, percentages and averages.
As we lay beside
Green pastures;
To think.
My skin
Can somehow allow me to see more cells,
Then sand sees, sea shells.
50 shots divided by 4 cops, equals no jail.
Sean Bell.
Pavements make payments,
Becoming best friends with hard times.
Bad news robs elbows with fiction.
It becomes an instrument in the orchestra.
Politicians and big business men;
Balancing budgets on my back,
And still I cotton pick.
Blame
Congress can’t make progress,
Change the process.
Smacking gravels that bash dooms
Smacking gravels that crack homes.
I am what you fear most.
You see me every single night; on the 10:00 o’clock news
America’s most wanted.
“Broadcasting live, on Fox5 News
There has just been a Liquor store robbery
Suspect Description:
Black Male
5’10
25-30 years of age
Black Yankee Baseball Cap
Grey sweatshirt
Blue Jeans
Construction Colored Timberlands
Armed & Dangerous”
Lethally poison-ness;
To which community I injected myself into.
Yellow tape restricted,
Homicide crimes depicted.
Ballistics,
Shoe laces aren’t guilt proof.
Baggy jeans
Du’rags
Hoodies
Your street corners will never be safe.
I will raise your taxes; welfare, unemployment.
I don’t need a job.
I’m gonna stand here!
I’m gonna grab my crotch!
I’m gonna call your son’s, my Niggaz!
A mothers mistakes..
All fathers denial; gone global.
Manifesto despite principles.
Prefixed the bane of my existences.
Bows & arrows of the Ashanti
From genesis to revelations
Predilection to proclivity,
Tragic theme of heroine struggle, made depictions as
cause & aftereffect.
Iced out, bling bling, cream.
Cash rules everything around me,
Cream is the money,
Dollar dollar bills ya’ll.
Son, dog, you dig’, yo.
Hip hop, rap, slang, ebon-ics.
I am what they fear most.
The formidable contender,
3 rounds against the constant contradictions
A black man.
BOO!!!
I am not dangerous; I am danger.
I am not genocidal; I am genocide.
I am not angry; I am anger.
But most of all I am not their stereotype.
I am my own black man.
The epitome of goals.
Summary of aspiration,
Rise with resolution,
Premonition of promise.
Splash of perfect black tone.
Joshua and the battle of Jericho.
Daniel and The Lions den.
God’s unchanging hand,
Black man; I am my own black man.

THE AUDACITY OF HOPE...

Epitome of goal.
Premonition of promise.
Summary of aspiration.
The fierce urgency of now.
Whispered by slaves as they blazed through trails,
Knocking for opportunity as well, prosperity.
It was a creed; stories rose among Negro fighters,
Written into the founding documents that declared
“Our destiny”
To this nation.
At the top
We stood,
To and for the American prayer.
“I exist. I am not insignificant.”
Yet the creed fell short of existence.
For the story of story tellers.
Four cells & walls echoed echoes hurled to boundaries.
Hang my heads; sorrow for humanity.
The 60’s became known for the crazy,
But the 80’s were worse.
To be blunt,
Crack fucked blacks and
Gave birth to a curse.
The white man dream,
Became the white man’s drug.
The skies bright, the moon misty.
We knew our future, as being told our history.
Screen lined predicted predictions by a gipsy.
By the age of down,
Bells rang out, hall ways cleared out.
Colored signs,
Found new home,
Praising new tone.
Wanting memories to teach me, churnings of butter.
Hymns to old gospel the earth cries grained sand piece me.
Break clod,
Plowing wickedness.
Sounds the trumpets,
Wolves howl against winds.
My soul clings to the dust,
All who dwelt on the rivers of Jordan.

Threshing winepress; dance of mourners.
Our songs of Audacity.
For every to be immersed in forgiveness.
Thirsty for revitalization after years of complicity.
We’d prey
For past sins to be tossed,
Within the tides of forgotten-ness.
There is no future in regret.
Repressed forward.
Reach upward.
Extend outward.
Stand firmly.
Existed to long as ghost for fear of saying no,
Traditions,
As well chasing pavements.
The embalm to American life.
We own the ballets.
We cast the vote.
Plundered battling bloodshed.
Heirs to a struggle for freedom.
Sweet peace instead hard wars.
The fierce urgency is now.
“We hold these truths”
Enough is enough.
Enough became enough,
When enough brought death upon equalization.
Abbevillian exalted enmity. Diviners abashed.
Troubled anguish have overtaken,
The zeal has consumed \.
Word play
To ghost whispers, as our flag is raised.
The Audacity.