Spectator, spectator
Time capsule ambassador
I see you out there
bobbing your head to the rare up ahead, keep walking
right up to me
toward our duet as in dueling or
grouping, whatever, my undiminishing can take your presence and turn it loose on the right hens
I see you out there punishing them of their innocence
You are part of the team, then, not just by default but because you can take nothing from me and you give me nothing I need but take your gaze on me and turn it into a way of seeing, not watching, watching is no skill but capital, an ideology for cash money can't get the wealth of meaning me, nor the fractals on my gown like augury to your backfiring, nor a black christ of the andes, nor a man with the trait of camera on his gums, chimera, fake prodigal son, it happens right in front of your death that the empty spotlight lifts you back to life and it's not black magic, the magic is blue seminomadic bucolic people calling themselves entertainers are losing our minds one by one. (It's after the end of the word/thought you knew that yet) Kanye West is a victory for the west, Kanye West is a tragic disappointment for the mythscience and miners and minor birds or the canary kind who warn you it's time for new heir by the woozy way they climb and limp to a narrow surface. Informants performing their tell as they spiral downward and land on their jewelery to survive, it's cool (I'm black too). Loom, my loom is burning an address into the hemp of feathers and first nights, it's cool, it says you can wear me anywhere, you can put me on the record as saying if I had my way I'd have been...(the first noun in change hanging on to an assassination for momentum was so lazy/ideal, hang on to the last angel in history instead, re-invent him, get him out of the ground, rent him a nice prairie home companion like your unplanned self) And when he blames you for loving him, it will be the most intelligent thing he's ever done by diamonds. Don't buy diamonds. Don't buy them. You can't buy them. Men die to the scrawl of their half-hearted contracts, recording, or black love of the andes, leave us in the earth where we belong
