"I am .... Desarray A. and Desarray A is the walking oxymoron to cloud 9's achilles heel. Black words written on white lines. Free verses, a bipolar rubix cube. Americas Prom Queen, sitting in Black Barbies coffin. An ongoing social experiment, Jykell and Hydes stepdaughter. I decided to be like me when I grow up. A Brooklyn N.Y native, my words are lyrics to spoken word music. I have insanity, my insanity does not have me. I am Desarray A. and Desarray A. is me."

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.



Welcome To The Desarray A. Poetry Blog-Site...


"THE SMOKING GUN 2"

"THE SMOKING GUN 2"
The Squeal To ThE Break Out Indie Movie Of The Summer

Monday, May 18, 2009

-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!!