Before I begin with music
I have to begin with words
they say poetry has to have rhythm
my rhythm has nerves
that is to suggest that my poetry breathes
it's listens to unsuspecting prey
a lion in the leaves
shrubbery insist that it is a gracious host
no better than, no worse
coersed in battle on some sinking ship

Better with a challenge
sort of writing from my soul
more like writing with my fingers
more like writing half whole
more like writing repitition
a technique that seems to stick
more like watching lots porn
lots of blonde chicks chocking dicks
I'm a sick mind with sick rhymes on my watch
that is to say my beats move through time
and keep rhythm on the clock
Obsessed with rhythming and some sort of meaning
a plot to carry you through

Old work is old work
look back on nothing
looking back on some things
and for some things
feel something.
So my form isn't cliche
or standard
or any type of shit you could put in a book
but typing has soul and I take a second look.
No crimes to be committed in black and white lines
An idea of emotion persist,
but what of time?

Time is in the spaces.
How long between the wavering?
ENTER space SHIFT
control alternate
HOME intsert END
only buttons on buttons translating into symbols.
INTO light! Black... light alike. White. Digital canvas
oh future. How you wait... Seductive on a nylon slate.
With pink-pantied slogans, you have me drooling to your attention
along with all of the other dogs on this planet.
No crimes are being committed between these pale and
malnurished black and white lines. It's simple
black takes up the space and white fills the rest.

It's simple.

Yea I saw the way she looks at other guys sometimes.  Maybe thought "I wish she was him." Maybe thought sometimes "better he than him." Yea I think about the ways she would turn and twist and get away from me sometimes. Yea I remember the days we'd spend together inside lazy as nothing could be. Television and TV. Junk food and candy. Snack time and lunch time. Dinner and gravy. Good times. So where are we now. I'm here doing this talking about you exploding out of silence. Feeling the graciousness of writing pour into me and float with out me. With out me and forth with. For it's free. As if I have been waiting for it because it came with a price. Most things do. This will too. Perhaps it's the season that has brought reason to these lessons. Because the winters that were and always will be ours. They happened and wont be forgotten while I'm alive. I remember. 

+

Eleven, Eleven, Eleven
Thirty Three, Thirty Three, Thirty Three
Ninety Nine, Ninety Nine, Ninety Nine
Two Hundred and Ninety Seven

Maybellini

I tell her
you're really cute
and I like the beer you drink
but,
I'm in a jam band
and we really suck,
too.