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.