Keep It Regular
are you jazz conversation with blue note soul? are you digging around to find your role? strutting down the street with a kink in your roll do you have Hooker Boom, and James Brown steps? Jackson moves and Franklin RESPECT? can you…
intellectual pursuits picking sexual fruits in cahoots in matching suits on photo shoots something unrealistic something spun ballistic don’t be just a statistic we are moving around with a burden on our backs we are moving around deflecting the attacks we are…
the things you live with the heart you give with the art you create despite hate build a tidal wave to drown the flames and to sink the names of those who play the kind of games that pick apart and destroy…
hung in some grey anatomy our contrapunto angulature these compliments to build ninety degrees edging into three sixty we will come full circle traversing the circumlocution of ourselves unfolding wings a switchblade transformation the divided sky the dividing line balancing the horizon…
volume breaks apart the rhythm i come in like william carlos williams or bukowski turning into a skid on a good day more like doggerel on the dog-end days slow poetic diaries of nothing exploding slowly into something what kind of voice…
bolting together thoughts into poetry some people hold precious the thoughts about poetry and they never plant the seed enraptured by the dream of a flower overwhelmed by the potential of its scent one day i will write this all down and…
a palatable disintegration it ticks the right boxes the squirm of despicable character the crumbling face and the excuses trot out we find the rot out lies like bucketed water honeying in the sun unfit to drink there’s a stink something drains…
fuck the doubters who do nothing but doubt fuck the shouters who do nothing but shout know that without us they’d have nothing to talk about they forward bad news and they upset the view they act like your muse but report…
there are things you should not say write about be part of do how are you pulling through? blimp head with advertised thoughts over the heads of insular forts this movement and that movement with little improvement the third act gun, the…
you, brief explosion you, mis-target heart you, somewhere in the dark a half translated movement from a full realised collapse like a synapse fried for nothing there are fortune cookies burning there are doves dipped in sunset blood and all of them…