The twin poles of survival

All I have to offer is myself

He ain't heavy; he's my people

And as we entered that country, it felt like someone was inventing us. As I carried him home, he carried me only-- as we enter that homescene, it feels like someone else. The telephone keeps ringing. Pick it up and no one's on the line or else-- celebrate. Chase the bell into its own trembling hands and the weightlessness, the devastating weightlessness of what he ain't quivers like a deflating balloon in the corner, and that's bloom too

Heart on sleeve

Life sits or blazes in this mecca

there's nowhere between the merely savage and the merely sentimental so nowhere snaps into a local

          dissatisfied and free

zone. Choreographing a solo for mulatto dancer about the whites only mourners bench Billie Holiday describes seeing in her childhood church. The dancer is forever/half there, haunting each lament with the math in her movements and considered movements. Running toward the bench, then backing away, then leaping, then scooting away on her ass, as if from some predator, then tiptoeing up to ask permission to join again, then sitting, then crying, then running away, then turning back to ask for forgiveness, then nevermind, then turning back to say nevermind, then being asked to join, then the mourners can't mourn without the math in her movements and considered movements. Then she no longer cares. Then she hides from them. Then she builds a new church, a blacks only mourners bench. That doesn't work either.  Impossibility is a destiny and she reaches its needles and spins on them like they mention gardens from where she's been left out of the myth and written new ones in a two-way language. The roosters catch on and jiggle their coos something urgent and tender as she sidles between them like movie shot in manhattan stoop feet dawn from now on, dissatisfied and free

Les Temps des Moissons

Each one other Is having different weather

Gazelle

I saw you painted on a ghetto wall last summer and thought don't submit to this medium... everybody's running into the wall or running into each other and plagiarizing our future like mummies and nukes, I watched you hug the Mona Lisa. I wanna use the word pariah until it shrugs for us and even their disguises go limp as a fire tumbling down a hillside into the playfulness in my heart, acres and acres of a lean, almost spiritual vibe afraid of its own momentum and then not afraid again

And in a soft and fundamental hour

a sorcery devout and vertical beguiled the world

Double Sunrise over July

Circles (as you heard them

were busy inside of diamonds and there's no such hinge as minor rituals...vacant eyes gaze out of the tour bus window like finding out you don't know where you're going but you're gonna be there by the time and the sun knows your circles, the spine knows their mercy, refinement and the ugly opposite it takes to get it finally until the dancer's body is time itself-- Many factors point to the universality of the phenomenon. The early Christians might have referred to the concept as 'pneuma', and there are some recent parallels in contemporary Christian Charismatic 'Holy Ghost' phenomena. Religious studies also note parallels in Quakerism, Shakerism, Judaic Shuckling (torso-rocking prayer), the swaying zikr and whirling dervish of Islam, the quiverings of the Eastern Orthodox hesychast, the flowing movements of tai chi, the ecstatic shamanic dance, the ntum trance dance of the Bushman, Tibetan Buddhist tummo heat as practised by Milarepa, and the Indically-derived Andalusian flamenco.

Microworlds

Everything is Praise

I risk everything/is praise. You're supposed to slice cucumbers alone this way, a listener slave-to-the- home-slice. Even the vegetables are coming out autistic. Something in the water. Be more exact. Risk that. Floride. Cash money millionaires. The residue of meditation related problems in western contemplative life. You might not want to know why you can stand it. Something in the war. The home front. A gritty hollow where the seeds had been. Not bossy. Softness. Are they insecure or crazy for loving their country so much. Naturally. It's us. America doesn't love herself or she wouldn't need to keep expanding. Something in the order, pander. Daughter, daughter, daughter, autistic vegetable. The whole vicinity lay bare before me. The subtle centers, the crumbling periphery. So loyal to itself like a parody. Jumping out of a moving Ferrari and not dying. This chant goes on for Miles, touches on the endocrine system like indo smoke and the 5 Tibetan Rites and why I don't like you like that. Warm apple pie. Cooped up apple pie so warm a liability. Pie.

Provocations/ to literacy

Opal Colored Waters

exhale like a cannon and repeat this two more times

Astral Traveling 101

Comeback Story

The necessary angel

You're Rural (You're real)

You're the rul rul healer of me
what does it feel like to be
like you're living in the center of your own howl
And what are you doing here all hours, it's all ours here, did you hear me knocking
you out,  the flour on my cutting board lifted into the air like a ghost. for trespassing?
It's nation time, it's nation time, it's nation tieeme—We say some things over and over until they go true:
I started singing in the church
I'm part cherokee
I'm a famous atheist
I'm an explicit marxist
I started singing in the church
I believe in everything you're afraid of
I check you out at the festival
I rest and cancel recipes

I turn you into yourself

Here's looking at you

Inglewood

Primal Memories

There is a hotel in los angeles where a bulldog sleeps in a cradle and still looks unloved

Merciless (Mistresses)

There is a woman so drab she cheers him up like/ it don't matter at this point. Joints swollen around a conflict/diamond. I was sad at first, but I wouldn't want to be her. At least jesus is black in season 3. And he saves me for last, cause he wants to practice, to save me the best. You have to be part of your own rescue. Live at the resurrection. And Freud cherishes me steeply. Mermaid in a monster's dream/he watches the watchers for me but I don't believe a word I don't say with my body and them watching. I've avoided the isles like perms and maybes. It don't look so straight ahead. Crooked and the very least/ angle/a language on the edge of its muses, gets strangled by them and reduced to too many of you. Smooth road, I'm travelling light/no detour ahead, except... well.. I might stop for mercy and he asks politely like a free man-- between a lamb's fertile blood and purposive ivory there might a dervish whose spinning to keep spinning, keeps on insinuating the other side of him ...  I might like it like this, lyrics of the quiet risk and the best reprises and jittery accusations that you don't what love is... until you're in with me-- this might be everything we ever wanted in a song

How to lead a bird pt. 2

MOODY - Why Do U Feel EP preview

Gypsy Love (good reflexes)

It's absolutely faithful to look at

literally

         Glass (crystal or drop)of water in a 

hand of tedium (or loathing, weariness)

Already the clouds return in coveys

Through the sky, with covered (or concealed) 

lights 

Fleeing the pavement wildly (or in delirium) 

And the flight inward. The cold surrounds (or clenches), 

The words that veil (or stand awake over) 

the secret

And the chivalry of the original word

Pause for Clarity

In order to combat 'advanced' ideas

on politics and art, all means are justified. So smoke away, my dear chap. If you don't, someone else will

The storybooks are silent

Red Planet (Variety)

How I dread you and your boring version of authority, how I find you too legible to know, how I left knowing, so I left, I won't go back to the bastard planet/ disturbed planet/ which corresponds to all the damage I did to you and I still can't stand it-- tell me about your children-- how can anything be ironic once you outlive the very justice of your longing, how can anything be the closest song. We're learning our father's music. Giant steps. Huge ass steps. Perfect roots for stepping at the bundle of dread in my heart for you as it turns out becoming this detour or iron lung. Yes, that is scandalous. That all the fantasies are the facts. And the facts' tantrums. That that gives them their dignity. That the queens in your speeches have brute lisps. They say Opus 27 and it thrusts from them like shovels and pretending and chopin's inland empire innocent romance and sex antics. They land in an ecstasy of slim eyes. They run to the tip of every pier with arms outstretched and fetching the wind of no incoming, no, not yet. You kept me waiting. The plan turned various reds and a dream. You're hip to this kind of giving.

All the time

A Famous Blues

My Romance

and the only drummer who can make us cry, realistic tears

Hallucinations (don't wait)

I thought-I thought-- risk and adventure must be reinvented and I love him because everything is an adventure for him and the allegory of the twins. We discovered that there were many more twins born than reported and it had been the custom to leave one twin in the jungle to die, as they believed there was only one soul between them, and the two bodies could not share it. Now the moral of the story is a character in it and you play both of him and read Carl Jung to your infant woes... know it all... approaches the fault and falls in always returning to the jungle to dig up its customs to leave them to dig them up again and elsewhere. On the other hand, those who are too subtle end up practicing their seductions into the mirror, they are not winners, don't tell me they've been here. I hear my way into a pilgrim's limp heart as it flees and I'm not sorry when they say he turned on himself and found himself wading in the tar, in the car parked in front of the argument in the parking lot near the gumball machines and carpet dolls and just when the nonsense befalls him like reason and you have turned into a prayer we carry into the take

What's Really Food (level 5)

The Book of Changes section 30 (Lil B's Reunion Yearbook)

The bright bird of sunset, not drumming on jars and singing, not producing tears in streams, not grieving with laments, then arising suddenly, then praised, then dying, then thrown away, then light again, then returning, treading staggeringly-- respect it. It's not necessary to be perfect. But it's imperative for spring. To be as true as a lie is. To wander its quiet increment, and the bribery---

And the BET award for best comeback-forward

It's really, very, very real to be here tonight in relation to life and death and I'm sure they both love each other

If you act like you mean it, I'll act like I mean it too. We're all turing 30 lenient times through it. We all mean it too much to be symbols of it. So we're all becoming more and more anonymous. Flippant even. And serious. Imperative again. Some demon swans and some angel swans. I wander from wing to recombinant wing singing on it and talking about how  your mom is so...  honest... we all wanna be more or less like her, more or less, and less moraless--

It's the only reliable thing. 

The Foothills of Wu-Tang Mountain