High and all he's my brother and he's my cousin and don't bug me when I'm in my sin, and even nobility is bleak in this country like a leaking will or parched well, unless backed with a militant
A militant what, though?
Just a militant, just a lit up animal ready to gamble and fill the language with moans and laughter that dangles the soul over the cliff of itself
It has
to be militant to say or soul anything. A tierra and spear, and a tantrum until the
quiet comes. And the overuse of the word feral in poems about birds is
even still beautiful like the rude stillness of a statue's eyes, for real though, it's
shrill to be that still and wild when it knows it's alive, when you know it's a
lie. Niggaz win the prize, Dogon A.D. style, we're the all/time best at
making shit up and it won't ever fall besides as a hand lands on a drum to unhinge the
immeasurable word, live before a studio audience.
