Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.



Friday, December 19, 2008

spokn words if ya'll aint herd

poetry is rap is jazz is rap is poetry
there aint no difference but that velocity
no shit homes they abid the same philosophy
replacing overly stoic institutions
with transitory theology
clap as the church rises to its feet
beat beat beat we are beat but beardless
we share the same collesseum
we the descendents of emancipationists
we see modern day slaves and want to free em
this should be fundemental inherency
beyond primacy
you have only yr chains and minds to lose
i want to be your TV
project plastic plascicity over bright blue static
oh so wordy
oh so dramatic but
yr boom-bastic flip-flow fantastic
simpler sampler platter of individual culture
a beat box of worldless enjoyment
get back to animal sounds that occupy soul's employment
poetic primacy without being trite or overly poetic.

like a fading star on a gray gray day
beneath the schismed sky of black projection i be the streetlight
call me a flashlight cus into yr darkness i shine a little light
call me that white diamond in the eyes of yr headlights
will you look
or do you wear yr sunglasses at night
Do you count good days on two hands or towards infinite
are you a ten finger being
does that sound like something you want to be?
or do you hug the night sky simply because it's there?
do you wake and tongue kiss the open ovular throat lining of the bright-white-backed morning light?
Do you buy yr anarchy sunglasses at hot topic
or do you paint the concept onto the canvas of every last motherfuckn streetlight?
I hear the mechanical horses clicketyclack in the distance
I see big floppy dildos made of steel
mad floppy by wind towering to 40 story heights
men foot binding their minds into grotesqueries
and grotesque technologies
and for what?
a little bling-bling on the fake frosted tip of yr stale rappers delight?
I once heard of a thing called rock and roll
you sit on a rock by the river
and roolll yr tongue to catch its fluid incantations.
We are the books we'll never write.
A grad stude jumped into a time machine
recognized the spark of future failures in its whipcrack wine
jumped off the craggy peaks of the Eades bridge
and no Icarus with self stitched wings
soars too high

So took flight.
murderous mothefuckas craft meticulous material
mad mc’s kill pretendas like cerial
spread dopeass tracks like diseases venereal
if ya don’t see me its cus me I’m on fire
an dats my fresh to def lyrical.
I hate yo god but I testify spiritual
I hate yo fakeness so much I’m fo real
ya’lls possessions so material
ya’alls obsessions so material
my dispossession
the crew I’m reppin
so fo real
this is like church
if I was a preacher
and ya’ll look up to me
like I was a teacher
and ya’ll ladies swoon
like ya’ll was believers
I rocked till tha break a dawn so hard that dawn broke me
with a backpack fulla krylons
and head fulla dope beats
soaked B
its been rainin fo weeks
stream of consciousness haunted hip-hop dreams
white boy trapped in burbs
but a bird with that southbound wing
hear freights blow tunes to Georgia
cats say I ain’t heard yet heard a ya
I saw I be on the next rail out don’t sweat it
I grab da mic speak my peace and forget it
while ya’ll material cats got nothing but broken backs from my battle raps a repossessed chain and some bad credit.
I use the obvious rhymes too case ya'll cats didn’t know it
take a good look at my face cus I be the last o the poets.

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