Why have you killed your esp
It's too easy, I mean, it's so hard, to live here
Then you get fearless, say shit like, Negro, your breed ain't metaphysical
The blackest horse is running backwards into a keel of marimba flutters and the rubble we shatter under discusses the Congo as a saddle of mines
You find your hands can go on better without your mind and become a benevolent dope dealer, the whole neighborhood looks up to him and he looks up to his mother.
I think when they turned us into breeders during slavery we forgot the difference between freedom and
Rum pinches the stomach and the scent of cloves in neon lungs fills the yard. Vice is a courtesy
Your eyes are two blind eagles that kill what they can't see
Your hands are two blunt shovels digging into me
