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.
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.
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