polyphony.

. . .

put down my heart to this page
perhaps to spark the rage of a pain of a man
who's childhood upped and walked away
clips and
parts of days dubbed and mixed with soundbites of night
ten pens for digits that were left undialed
...and
thus i write
this is mine affirmation
a diary of visual vocals
i soak this shit in vinegar so y'all can taste just what i go thru
and
who the fuck are you to question?
fuck it, i'll bless your session
wasted words in the air taste sweet, once they're off my chest, man
they say no rest for the weary
no breaks for the broken,
papermates and bics become dicks to fuck the page with emotion
yeah, i'm totin'
you want guns in my rhymes? i'll sport em
motherfuckers want to be hard? i'll leave you in rigamortis/post-mortem
and more than often
dudes talk shit when they're too dumb to let waste be waste
but i beg you to shut the fuck up if we ever meet face to face
to each his own-
...and this is my zone-
allow me a voice, a days worth of oxygen,
a drum break and a microphone, and i'll bring you home
no writtens cleverly crafted to cop papes
no weak bars, no punch/lines, no guest spots and posse cuts for god's sake
my home is a lonely place
seven deep but eerily silent, i sat in a corner for 20 years telling myself "no man is an island"
picture perfect from the undressed eye
but i have a darkroom with untreated shots on a line in the back- step inside.