Longest July

Empty arms hold a world

defined by memories and explored

inside of a dreamplace.

There,

where vanity answers no valiant question

but family yet holds,

inspiring moments grow wings.

Also,

it will fly past along side them

if Love is not King and Keyring.

For this fare

guilt is an aftertaste.

However savored

the clench and chew

is only, was only

shallow.

The summer

and with the sea

have taught me this.

In spurts it sprays;

misting its forgiveness in fragrance.

The lofts

of Discipline and Faith

hold my charge

Steady at the helm

beneath a high moon

headed home.

What It'll Do

Looking for letters. First names. Because writing is too sacred for sinful hands. A moments redemption cost more than a moments attention.

So he’s talking now. Because I’ve nothing to say, And silence won’t suffice.

Words themselves die on ice, and breathe fire. So I cover my mouth when I caugh.

Poets are prisoners. Their cells the wide walls of Babylon blank and deep. Their lives are prayers heard only inside dreams keep. And they find solace in the journey to and from sleep.

A world within a few cubic feet, and all but no release. Water for wellness. Quarters for brand coffee, and whiskey to pay the devils toll. Prideful and assumptive. Lost in control.

Story teller story teller, ain’t you got no role to play? Ain’t you got no hole to lay? I’ll take it! And he stole the day. Smoothe into the dirt, like a mole in clay.

Pay no mind, ‘less my pockets get to jingle a little bit, or find and cue the cumbersome to tickle your pickle dick. So funky sweet how the fabricated air skeets on ya face. It can be arranged, this kind of meet and greet. And the keyboard doesn’t even have buttons to delete. But when it’s all over, better hold on to that receipt.

One said love is for those that believe in it. Yet what of those in which love believes? Hunts and tracks down sure as it breathes. Steals without warning with its band of honorable thieves. Thrives in the lives of the trees and the green leaves. Needs not permission to move. Claims any and everyone it shall so chose. Even those with woes, and who owes of the blues. It catches them toos.

Corners will shrink to fit the ego of man.

His world will break as he’s allowed his spirit to be. His Earth will forsake him as he did her.

The MasterTeacher does not offer pardon for the vengeful. It is not available to the disobedient.

Hear yourself. Heal yourself through humility.

Yet time is an illusion, and my watch a prism.

Find me lose me. Sweep me keep me.

Suai & Moscatel

Sweet ferment ravish

Tongue lavish that turns the lights off

Then I go down

All the way

to the switchboard to turn them back on

Careful though, for how long

Mole over the left, right?

That night

sitting in a glimpse of the moon

I was her first

Lips as grapes, I remember the taste

We sat

Black and white we'd face

All a distant fragrant memory

reliving itself in a dream

Hair sprawled out beneath me

Long brown lashes beseech me

to do the same

Lioness be tame

I know your name

Set my loins aflame but

never shall I proclaim

as others have of your fame

Nor you of mine

But hold I in your mind forever

As was my destiny

to give to you

Which mystery shall be solved

before my heart has resolved?

Yet another beauty

for my eyes to fall for

that makes my wrist

crawl on all fours

She with dark and light in spite

or her who's seen me since then

and steals me at night

when my sight is set

on seeing more than wrong or right?

Bent, knelt down

and delivered to her

as I did on her first

Sweetness to greet my thirst, or worse

My, what's written

and yet lies on lines

Basting as I'm tasting

such damn good wine

In Love With and Without You: Scene

“Didn’t I say I was tired of looking up and seeing that you’d written some song or poem or piece about me? It’s getting old Michael.”

“You did. And yea, I know. But so…what? Because you asked nicely I’m supposed to stop being inspired by you??”

“ (lol) YES!!”

“(heh)…guess that’d make it a whole lot easier…for YOU huh?”

“Well it sure wouldn’t hurt!”

“(lol) It’d hurt me! I’ve tried,… To actively NOT think or write or sketch about you. I’ve managed a good deal of success with that too! It definitely helped me to open my creative mind back up to the world outside of romantic love and what that can inspire and bring out of me.”

“…and that’s exactly what I’d love to see you do more of! Sure a girl loves to be the subject of a song two, but I don’t wanna see you waisting your talent on me….Not that the stuff you’ve written about me is a waiste :) …But your perspective needs to be articulated on everything you can! Not just love.”

“I know. I know. And I’m working on it. Promise. ‘workin on it!’ (lol)”

“Plus, you’re gonna look up and be real sad when you finally realize it’s over, and you’ve done all this stuff about one person that you’re not even with. One person? ONE subject!? C’mon! what kind of resume will that read like? You wanna be well rounded so that the love pieces will stand out!”

“(lol) Why do I feel like this is all a ploy to ensure that the stuff I’ve done on you will remain the greatest of it’s kind? What are you REALLY up to huh??”

“Heh…Me?!? YOU’RE the Master Manipulator remember!? (lol)”

“….You know I hate that shit.”

“I know. That’s why I said it. Besides, I’m still not quite over you lying to me for the better part of a year. I really did feel like you completely mind fucked me man. Like, it’s all still pretty sick that you were even able to do that. Let alone to me, the one you claimed to love oh so much. Love doesn’t do what you’ve done. And don’t bring up all the shit I’ve done. None of that justifies your lies. I was always honest with you. However ugly the truth was, at least you got it up front. Wish I could say the same for you..wha…Why are you smiling!?!?”

“….Cause…You’re really cute when you get to monologing about how shitty a guy I am. Especially when I already know all that you’re gonna say. You get yourself worked up so easily. It’s the cutest thing.”

“….I’m serious Michael!...”

“Wha!?...No seriously, you think I don’t know?? Why do you think I went outta my way to try and come clean!? It doesn’t feel good knowing how deep I went with it all. And frankly…I’m still dealing. Today.”

“Why? I forgave you didn’t I?? …Let it go. You shouldn’t walk around with that on your spirit.”

“But I do.”

“Well don’t. I mean, move on man! Go date! Swoon! Get laid! Write about it! You’re free! No strings. No…girl hundreds of miles away to feel obligated to call or be faithful, but not really, to. You’ve got a lot of good going for you. Go enjoy yourself!”

“You think I haven’t been doing all those things?? I have. I told you. I was actively moving on, and it was working well enough….But you don’t just wake up one day and DECIDE you’re ‘over’ someone. There is no such thing as falling out of love. Not if it’s true! …..There’s BEING in love, and then there’s KNOWING you’re in love. And neither of those necessarily require the participation of two people! Which is why all those guys from back in the day wrote about unrequited love, cause they ass was in love alone!....S’gotta be a sad state of affairs. I mean, I can’t really identify with that tho…”

“ heh. Oh really!??”

“Drop it! Just cause you wish you didn’t love me doesn’t make saying you don’t any less false.”

“Sure I love you Michael. I’ll always love you. Just like I’ll always love David, and Marcell, and-”

“-Fuck them, and fuck that. Don’t even give me that shit. You know what I mean.”

“(lol) For all you know I could be in a committed relationship, and you’re sittin’ real high thinkin’ you know somethin’ about what I’M feeling.”

“Well…Are you?....In a relationship I mean?”

“Hmph…never know.”

“See!? THAT’S the shit I’m talkin about! Cause even if you are, you’re still here with me eating this up. ‘Oh he’s so pathetic! Why won’t he just get over it! I wonder what he’ll say next…”

“What if I just enjoyed flirting, eh? Wasn’t it you who always told me flirting can be sooo innocent?”

“…Yea ok. You got it.”

“Michael, listen. I’ve told you, I forgave you. Really. It hurts sometimes when I think of what could’ve been and all we did to mess that up…well, well mostly what you did….but it’s cool. I’m cool. And you’ll be too. I’ve said it and I’ll say it again. I have no intention of being with you again.”

“…Well, what ‘you’ are you talking about, cuz…ya know I’m a different me than I was even just twenty minutes ago, ya know?? I mean, Neo wasn’t the one till the END of the movie when he could see the numbers in the air n’ shit?....JESUS didn’t even start telling people he was Christ till his ministry, and that didn’t begin till he was like thirty som’n!.....Not trying to liken myself to Jesus or some futuristic digital world war savior, but, I mean…you know what I’m saying (lol)….What if it IS you, and if it IS me, it’s just that our time hasn’t come yet?”

“….That’s kind of far-fetched, don’t you think?”

“Not really…”

“Hmph……Peace Michael. Take care of yourself.”

“….Pray for me!?”

“God can hear you just fine.”

“Does that mean you won’t pray for me??”

“No.”

“….(then what does she mean!??...)”

Pride Before the Fall: Short Story to Preface the Scene

…The waking moments that greet our young LoverThinker on this day remain full. Of the recollecting of the dreams he’s just returned from. The Boat and the sea on all sides where his little sister vacationed with a cad. The Gotham skylight window of a top floor hotel room, where he and his father fired round after round at floating perpetrators fleeing the wrath of the righteous. The Forest pathways that hid the desperation of his thievery. Yet in a minutes worth of blinking and bathing in the breath of a new day, all that captivated him were the words that he could not yet discern to have really been a mistake to have typed during that select conversation the day before.

He could not have known, nor did he expect that she would be available to chat when he and his companion made their somewhat religious trip to the internet café up the hill and around the corner. On the walk his thoughts wandered. Would they make it to the beach again soon? For the sun was high and hot that day and he could feel his skin under the sweat browning yet. Going on a tour of the cedars riding ATV’s seemed like the most appropriate thrill to spend some cash on, but how could he convince his pretty patron of that much when her spirits were leaking in limbo? Her beauty accounts only for so much, but it sure helped days go by faster. Casual conversation continued in spite of his ambitions, and soon screens saw them sit.

Typing, he found out not long ago, felt like playing the piano, and so he enjoyed signing on and logging into the various sites where his fingers had championed user names and passwords. He jingled his digital keys not before fiddling them in his hands knowing which door each opened. Gmail. Facebook. Twitter. Blogger. YouTube. Who’d be there? Maybe someone would have replied to a message or wall posting, or commented on one of his videos, or the drawing of the girl and the flag. Most often there was none of these. Realizing and expecting this much, he spent a second being sad about it, and then reminded himself that he enjoyed being the most underrated over dog, and commenced to log in.

Gmail. Username: MyklHanna. Password: *********. Inbox: Jennifer(me) unread!? STOP! HAULT! PAUSE! DISINGAGE! SIGN OUT! His sunken stomach found its way out of his cargo shorts, and once his vision came back into focus and feeling came back into his fingers a chuckle filled the chamber of his mouth, and rolled off his tongue. What could she possibly have to say?! Why would she send him a message after all that was said in the last!? Was he really that surprised that she emailed him still!? Was he already overreacting to what was probably nothing close to being as serious as he was making it!? Then the chuckle returned. Suddenly he felt like a pale faced Keanu Reeves sitting on the olive seats in the desert of the real while the black man’s booming voice spoke humorous revelations too simple not to understand.

Twitter. Username: MyklHanna. Password: ********. “Fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.” Tweet. Sign Out. He inhaled deep and quiet, and continued his log in rituals. But after retrieving what information he needed elsewhere, he returned to the inbox where the unread unexpected message awaited his reply.

And reply he did. Swiftly, and punctually, addressing each concern and query she posed to him there. There was a poignant tone in both of their texts. Very practical. And yet he’d read into what wasn’t said. Her words and requests in and of themselves spoke that she still thought fondly of him, or had some need of his help, urgent or otherwise. That this was proof that even if only a tear drop in a vile or a flasks worth of experimental data, there was a longing that existed somewhere in her being for him. And this much made him smile. But of course he could not afford to indulge in such foolish assumptions or over analyzations any longer than the time his face had already stolen. Yet no sooner did he send what he believed to be the perfect reply did moments later she’d appear like the lyric from his song still ripe in the air from being composed not two days past. His cargo shorts weren’t interested in company at that time, so his stomach just fizzed a little. Neither did his eyes nor his fingers wait for his mind to make some cold insensitive judgment call, and without delay double clicked her username next to the green circle indicating she was signed into her account as he was.

He began the dialogue in disbelief, asking if she was indeed available to chat, anticipating her signing off without reply, or in fact stating that she was not interested in a conversation with him. But it seemed she was. These anxieties did not have but a moment to fester before her small talk took him over.

They typed back and forth about the content of the email she’d just received from him, and she told him of her new musical explorations and those that assisted her. The banter slowly became more friendly and a might bit flirtatious as they inquired about and suggested attractive counterparts for each other. Yet as sex entered the dialect, he found himself apologizing for excessive questioning, as she searched, looking for more telling responses. Tipping on tightropes no lies were told, yet how much truth was revealed neither of them could truly feel. But that this was felt was the truth unspoken. The yet lingering mistrust and disgust she felt for him salivated the guilt that arose on the same tongue he skewered her with. The same hungry tongue that hadn’t yet tasted redemption.

Before he was rushed off the computer and out of the café back around the corner and down the hill, what found him is the same that woke with him today. The same that sat with him and poured into a fanciful scene he’d illustrate of he and her. One that he could picture as vividly as the green circle next to her username on yesterday. Perhaps this was his opportunity to reenact what he wished would’ve happened, or what he thought he should’ve said before he left their dialogue. Before he’d realized that the conversation became his testimony that he’d realized she’d said nothing in response to. No interruptive exclamations. No affirmations or even any comments of disdain; just a farewell. An empty and ever interpretive goodbye that cued the playback of his heart vomit.

“Don’t kid yourself for a moment…I’m still very much in love with, and without you.”

How pathetically poetic he typed these words without thinking, showing himself in a way which was of course already supremely visible. How recklessly romantic he lowered his shield to the swing of his own sword. How cheaply chivalrous was the accuracy in his profession. A prince and a pauper all in the same.

Forgetting whatever words that followed before her farewell, likely in a similar fashion as the ones that haunted him home, he found his focus enough to enjoy a meal and the laughter and good company of his beautiful companion. He dismissed her from his thoughts, and felt encouraged to continue on as if to have passed through a revolving door maybe too long before exited through to the other side. Although she’d find him in all the same places, he’d gotten accustomed to telling himself he allowed her to. And so that evening it wasn’t as difficult to sleep as one would think it’d be for our heart stricken LoverThinker. But when he woke up on today…

Holiday

"American Woman! Stay away from me! American Woman! Mama let me be!"

Next Day the Same

These are strange but familiar walls.

Invite me in after I've been cordial & proper in my introductions.

I enter to feel the comfort from the color that falls on me. Changing

as if in a mood ring wrapped around me. Tight on my reach.

I take off running down hallways.

Pausing to notice my pace,

and then picking it up where I left it at the door where I entered.

Did I rush to proceed is not the question I ask myself.

I thought it patience that allowed me passage.

Yet just as politely, I'd press on,

with no payment.

As follows the path of the nomad wordsong painter.

Perhaps forgiven as a pirate on pillage

but I never found the booty.

So I slumbered, hailed

God, and set sail

into the afternoon soon.

The parades & drums are for the bride

not the groom.

First A Man

Thumbnail to the farthest outreach of little finger. Lefty. Hefty.

Under Sunlight exposing them all.

In fours counted them over in threes.

Scent of the seas on the breeze, and I know each of their funk by name.

Counted them in 2's.

Counted as their eyes mounted.

But I am not the pope, nor his successor.

Crowned in dreams bridged to dreams of Me 1 of 3. My tree.

Seed needs fertile soils and untilted fields to grow.

Till then I was there to plow and shovel snow,

and now here I sow the message.

Aim for their necks, sides backs.

"Peace on her back lain."

Do you to the front intimidate by brown skin alone?

Seven mile and Livernois in your pupils glare fire?

Silent insanity on deck in case they don't get it. You don't forget it.

Sorted out in strong words on long lines,

but what when times bring them at you like scenes you've studied? Here alone?

There's the throne. They will charge. On gaurd soldier stay there.

Don't expect they will play fair.

Swifter, I am. Stick shifter, am used to driving

since 15, 14 watching.

Lessons in life upon me now,

drips from my brow the confusion and immediate confrontation of culture unknown.

But not that much.

Counted them each in 4's & 3's. Seven I sees.

Aim for their knees. Move. Point to prove.

Precious life. I can't lose.

But I am not the rope nor the bull caught in the lasso.

Right over strong arm still.

Wrist gleam, mug mean. Charm set to kill.

But she is not mine, and days yet weeks left undefined.

Portraits of power in mind,

Father help this inclined young anxious soul to know his role.

Protected I'd appear to have been keeping who?

For I am not a dope, & my position cannot be neglected, nor suggested.

"I Can't Wait Until Tomorrow Comes!": Song & Story

We’d been playing Spice Street for about a month. When we first started we played every Thursday and Friday. This was my first steady gig, and I was on the set with cats who’d been dealing with this music much more intimately. That’s how it felt anyways. Every night I was tryna keep up. Even after we’d gotten a solid repoirtoire together, and I knew what I was doing a little bit, the rush of anxiety from just missing that turn around, or almost nailing that lyric kept me hungry. It was like finding and chasing a brand new high, and I never wanted to run out of supply.

She was coming into town Friday morning of that holiday weekend. I wanted her to be there when I sang it with the band. The day after I wrote it, I played and sang it to her in the Chicago afternoon sunlight of my humble Hyde Park apartment. She rescued me then, and so I fumbled through on the keyboard trying to give her an idea of what I heard in my head, but it was still too fresh. She loved it. I didn’t do it justice. So I got excited to perform for her. Make up for some missed effort. I wrote out a chart for the band and planned to save it for her for Friday.

Maybe management knew I had to stay true to the lyric. Early that week we’d been moved to Wednesdays and Thursdays. Instead of music while you’d dine, they had a belly dancer. She told me she took a class at the YMCA or something. I think her name was Amy.

Discouraged as I was that she’d miss it, I was determined to deliver it to her, in spirit at least and or somehow. I handed each of the guys a chart, and the rest is on youtube. My own song and it felt like I was writing it in the performance. There was a brief discussion of form and feel before we played but that was all dealt with on the inside. Each of us all listening singing reading playing losing finding our way back. Rewarded with the claps from the few girls that sat in front of us, not knowing we were blind to them, seeing only the music. Me seeing only her.

‘…here every Wednesday and Thursday from 6:30 to 9:30, and we’re gonna be working in some new tunes for y’all real soon.’ I said after introducing the band. Not realizing I hadn’t introduced the song.

History preserved courtesy of JC’s iphone. He sent me the raw audio, and I forwarded it to her email before she came. I wonder what she thinks of it now…

Txt2Squizzle

...i close my eyes an see you in that sun dress from labor day. You walk into my fantasy big hoops danglin from your ears, sun touched brown bare shoulders, purple pump strut over to me with sex in your stare. Vortex sux us to nowhere but here and the air takes my hands up your legs, big hands grasp perk cheeks, no panties. You knew what you were doing, too late for me to pull back from heart pace increase. Lift. Slip. Fingers by squizzle just to slide across my upper lip. Wiff. Lick. Left arm strong pull you into my kisses. Your neck screams misses and forget me not wishes. Lips feel the distance close in an instance. Passion grimaces from behind us. so far beyond and above it we climb till time calls me to take you, make you mine. Enter park bench, bar stool drool, library silent steal you in the philosophy stacks. Pelvis and pussy slaps from the back. Shes talking to me now. Crowds gaze and ears amaze at the music made. Soulful moanin' on the radio plays in the maze of our scenic love songs. You be the keys and strings and snares and I'll be any player you dare. The microphones there, and waiting for you to share your directors commentary. Keep the climax a secret, ill tell you when it comes...but you'll knw. Makers Mark the imagination. She told me "baby, sip slow" and so...

Purple Pumps

Where others stumbled, she's stood.

When others stuttered, she spoke fullness to the mission.

Every scene is her runway to take off from expectation of failure.

She is truth child of the tribe, sharing with them the profit from the pains and gains of the people. Her people. Your people. Our People.

With peace power in her heart, she is a reluctant fighter, but a brilliant and bold warrior when battle befalls.

Her arrival hails the departure of evil, and she is always leaving to land.

The glare of Earth in its eternity is in her stare.

Her eyes are like a pure poison of passion and promise, peering into your souls intent.

She is heaven bent on bringing out from that which love bored, and poured down into me, and You!

In this whole world, she is woman, girl, prophet, pearl,

sitting and fitting into the palm of the divine.

The flats of her feet are firm with fertility.

Each nail and toe separate and sow the soil beneath and between her every half step scaling up the strength of her stems. Squizzle her scarlet petals dew drop color down the thornless vines. The winds that sweep around the cosmic bends of time whisk stardust through her hair, and on the breathe of her every word.

Something like a fallenangelshepheard, or a masterteacherpartner.

She wields a prowess in her purpose unmatched by her opponents.

Her love is strong enough to tear books into, yet fragile and fair,

like the inhale of coast mountain air.

She dares to conduct introductions between the real, the mind, and the sublime.

And in her kiss lies the healing of a world lost then reassured with faith and constellation.

She is a pioneer.

She is a rebel and a rougue.

She is a symbol. She is iconic.

She is my heroine.

Rated Ex

DISCLAIMER:this is a freestyle typewritten composition to 9th Wonders "Alright".Listen while reading For Fuller Artistic Experience, and Appreciation. P7

...tell ya what I'll say. pray. everyday. And watch how investmesments pay. Catch the opportunity to bless the day, and find the trash to throw the stress away. Cuz I'm blessed to say, that a niggas doin alright....

All night I sit up toss turn, burn the memories of her presence in my living room just weeks before. Picking at the scabs and secretes and sores, plotting in a vengence to go and meet the whore, choke her out, and deplete the whore. How could you eat before me, the King, only your love and priviledge in my presence should you bring!!

And yet the phoneix sings, draggin and lagging the rhythm of its swing across times, and mines where diamonds melt in fire. The flames following the squire's choir under the flap of his wings. Praises, and phrases come out at the will of the God, a nigga sickenin' like him jetta sticking as if he was whippin a horse, and then again if he was whippin' a porsche, either way it's all articulated so that you can get it of course!

And I'ma spit it some more, while my nigga splittin the rillo down, and I'm type-writing the lyrcs as if decoding digits off the motherboard of the hood. Bull City steps, trace my footprints down Fayettville, the stains say my name still, visual from the plane while you looking out the window thinking 'damn I'm glad I came, cuz I prolly wouldn't have seen if I'd sat in the same, seat in my apartment or up under the same rain. peace Royalty remains. King.

Peace Queen, I greet you with no apologies. Life's gone on as it should, but everywhere the lights don't shine in my mind, I can feel you on the other side saying Peace King. I'm yours, why haven't you seen it, And why haven't the rivers of my eyes, and them that flow between your thighs, seen my love mirroring their pain and beauty in the skies! Suprised, to see a niggas still loquacious? That's what happened with what you left behind, So Spacious. And yes, the way she did me was oh so tasteless, but I'm looking at the body of my burdens and it's faceless, And my desires for you can never replace this, so I'm inspired to rebel out and replace it, I won't take this. But I will take

my soul to the water, and continue loving this creature that I've embraced as our daughter, who every day grows in ways I'm only beginning to comprehend. Calls that you'll never know about go out, but now I'm on the non receiving end. 'Fates it, seems, is not without a sense of irony.' Late, the dreamer hasn't returned since spring brought its break

Love hardpressed in my stomach to the core, thinking I need the heat to protect the crib, welcoming weapons in as if I'm in a rush to Live, legally whippin now, so my current address depends, on which demon I'm outrunning, or man I'm on way to becoming, or wherever that pretty brown eyed muse of lova lives.

So to her, and the pursuit of happiness, against the snakes, and broken rakes in yards far from being cleared of those that need to leave. Don't spend a dime, I'll want a penny more atleast. Watch. Time for Change.

I AM.HE.SO IS.SHE

I dine
with You and my desire for justice in Your name
I sleep
With wholes of Your absence from my bed, and from my dreams
You are
here in my transcription tool
Yet not
On the lips of the prophets of this time
Plenty here
for us fallen angels
Yet were You not there
Looking down as I descended?
Missing
as I do now, as the world does now?
Texts have not
mirrored You but behind me
While I know
You are beside my stride
Between the swing of eight
and the things of great
Anger and Passion tenses my face
for You
So no tears will fall
from swollen eyes
Why don’t You raise
Your numbers together
and plainly play it to us all!?
Show us, Show me
Lest I believe, and not
You are my balance
whilst I tip across
the dangers of knowledge
where questions quarrel
and leave me
for the feast of doubt and devils
I want
I knead
I plead and Pray
for Your acknowledgement here
And the teachers will know how I sing for You
And some will give to me from amongst You
ways to make contact
But some from amongst You
will indeed my students be, and
I will be fervent in my efforts
To help them
Find You in themselves