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Duck Preach To Chicken

Posted on February 20, 2015 in Poetry - 0 comments - 0

if i flatter, don’t let it go to your head.
i’m just supportin’ you. i ain’t jockin’ you, kid.
i ain’t with which to be compared, y’heard?
au contraire, you think in nouns; i in verbs.
you ain’t seen what i seen.
so how you propose to know what i mean, billy jean?
my style may confuse your textbook wisdom. think?
it’s not jesus syndrome, it’s legitimate-speak.
if i explained at length, your eyes might flutter.
you’d know i’m closer to Truth and thus call me a True brother.
never clandestine, my ops stay overt.
ain’t got shit to hide, not even my hand in her skirt.
i work for work’s sake; not for pete’s sake nor lean steak.
no second-guesses in the moves i make.
mistakes are mistakes. i’m on the move to be Great.
am i far from you now? you may or may not be late.

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Like Me

Posted on January 5, 2015 in Poetry - 0 comments - 0

no one right like me
they try to rite like me
but can’t even write like me
let alone shed that light like me
they try to fight like me
but can’t grip that fist tight like me
can’t mix that black and that white like me
they wanna soar heights like me
but can’t maintain their sites like me
blinded by True sights like me
hope they kick it and collect they minds like me
lest they collapse from great mights like me
they plated with gold and don’t price like me
i don’t shake and don’t fold, they ain’t trifed like me
they ain’t used to the types like me
ain’t seen no one change up lives like me
axe about me. who shake them dice like me?
who spin them winter fairy tales that end nice like me?
who got nothin’ to hide from they wife like me?
who spit that serial Truth with no Lies like me?
who got that dragon-skinned apron that can’t be tried like me?
who was born the very night they died like me?
who run they own math with no cosines like me?
who run they own Math with no cosigns like me?
who run through dark paths with no fright like me?
who can kick it to the gas and stop at dimes like me?
even in prose they can’t keep in line like me
divided by infinity, they still ain’t fine like me.
in the end, they all love me even if they don’t quite like me.

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Cane & Scotch

Posted on January 3, 2015 in Poetry - 0 comments - 0

i’m the candy cane man kickin’ rocks in sugar valley.
whispers all around me. rotten teeth in the alley.
shadows stay surround me for a piece of that cavity.
kick that happy jolly like easter activities.
creeps, jerks, and rival priests.
knees flirt with vile feet.
lust, lorn, and trialed teens.
the flash is on. smile please.
clean coins from travelers’ fees.
shadow-light economies.
tourists stay tryin’ me.
we can still be brothers, G.

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Misguided Hate

Posted on January 2, 2015 in Poetry - 0 comments - 0

So i’m back here chilin’, stray track killin’.
J-cats catch that lay back dental fill-in.
Like spraycans on a late snack clicka clacka.
Rip a wrappa like winter jackets in nuclear reactors.
Street actors keep your distance. You chasin’ riches.
I’m makin’ calculated moves to make a difference.
Hashtagged teens. I can’t breathe!
And I ain’t screamin’, “Fuck the Law.” So they lash at me.
Meanwhile, they jazz that beef.
Discrediting every movement that makes progress by smashing things.
Yeah. I backtrack links.
You fake, piggy-back, claim the fame, capitalize on the same shit you despise. Take a good look in my eyes.
You ain’t nothin’ but jive, counterfeit keep-it-live, 100 percent nonsense. Phased out tryin’ to spark shit.
I’m bein’ honest. You ain’t buildin’? So whatcha doin’?
Complainin’ about changes around you, but how was it when you flew in?
You gutter rocks spinnin’ sputter talk.
Bangin’ like butter blocks wrapped in cotton socks.
On an open fire with chestnuts and such.
I keep my nose clean while yours runnin’ rubber snot.
Wait until the bubble pop. Even they kill another cop.
That don’t make the trouble stop.
Had a crisis in ’08. Wait until another drop.
Oh. Right. Obama helped with what?
Fake. Fake. Fake. Act like you know!
Quit spinnin’ your fairy winter flows like you on some hydro.
Stay Fresh bananas, but you stale like moldy three week-old tuna fish salad.
Quick to destroy. You lack patience to build.
Ain’t even got a plan for after the blood’s spilled.
Get real.

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