polyphony.

one of my favorites.

5/27/02

seven seconds to standoff
flows twisted around earlobes and
toes tippied to overstand those
vo(cab)calizations, i
strategize, deploy
raw thought patterns that
tattoo soundwaves
and brand brave
hearted mothafuckas with the iron of silence
the streets whisper like
metronomic to my metaphors
as i throw 5280 feet to lyrical pedicures
with roads less traveled
i be rogue, stress-battled/soldier of circumstance
leveling this circumvention to circumsize lesser dic-tion
cause i'm about
strictly spitting non fiction,
dropping dime bags of truth at the speed of weed

son, i'm
grand larceny to the hearts of these junior varsity wordsmiths,
whose wordspits be like myths in the mist, when in the midst of this
meta/physicist with lip blistering acrobaticisms
strapping six second samples of metropolis-made nigga/melodies
to continental rhythms
and the blowback strikes omnidirectionals in five second dimensions
-i breathe ascension
maxwell'n your caffeine addiction, my
exhales wrought with metered suspension
deserted convention and fenced in schools of thought,
i'd rather be taut in delivery than taught in deliberation
giving pause to weak recitation
i could invoke uprisings in raped nations and
still fold half the trash your radio station rations
to your eardrums
i philly joe jones your eardrums with symbol'd cymbal crashes
that beat breaks into fixes for fraudulent microphone actions
and it's just begun
hustling communiques and hurling speak
like baseballs at basslines that ride out into the sunset

like we be bumpin' on sun/set

attacking the countenance of each thumb/fret
you climaxin' in your genes but the son of man ain't even cum yet
i'm dripping calico palaces from the lips,
and rhetorical queries lace my shit like

is my style see-able?

-four seconds till response,
better yet spare
yourself the solitaire
syndrome
i cross reference and blend poems with dolemite and flint stone
disrespect and get sent home
it's like that, family
i been sharp with mine since the fetal position
spoken tomes got felt like braille, and ASL for those who opt not to listen
i hot box and glisten when i spit paradigms and schisms
split light like
prisms and drop lyrical cataclysms

so pay attn. spittin poetical prominence.
___

not exactly a rhyme, just a hard ass poem. chea.