Digitally pacing the stage as its future and its past, a full body holograph
of Tupac Shakur
No more bad-dream music
No more second-tier reunions
Fidelity is diffident,
offensive, a new interstellar low-way
to say suspended animation and the sound of his gaze, Just Above my Head by James Baldwin, cinder and crystal always lies.
The trouble with all this healing is the scar is him, we meet again, anyway, innocence until the intelligence of our transcendence is more than completeness, the kind of lunging stillness that unites large numbers of people and makes us feel innocent, atomic. I wanna be at The Summit of the Americas with this history of more than completeness he blew me a fractured chorus I wanna be it. Smokey Robinson Cruso's, I'm Your Puppet, gets the tree right up close and inhales some lucky boulevard of Linden rut or triumph-- his ailments have been identified as paranoid schizophrenia and polysubtance dependance, though he no longer uses any substance regularly, that's because he doesn't have the funds. Anyway, innocence. The intelligence of our transcendence is more than completeness and the kind of lunging stillness that unites large numbers of people and makes us feel innocent. I wanna be at The Summit of the Americas, James Baldwin Just Above my Head, taking you everywhere you've led me
