Poetry is the language of imagination

Poetry is a form of positive creation

Difficult, isn't it the point? Ya missin it
Rockin's kinda new to me cause my true love is poetry

I don't know what you thought hops but chief I've got tall props see

This be thee rebuttal version

To mister academic who does not believe that my poems would

could should have muscles and bodies like this one

I want my poem to be brazen and long legged

and squash mud under a hard yellow heals wicked gravity

I wish to leave this lab of brains swishing in jars

and write poems that shatter glass with undeniable bodies

I want to be a word that wants to be a sweating brick

so drink that through your pointed teeth and critique it

I want to be the strophe that strokes the ear in salty heaves

a spine that bends and works like the dance you shut the door to be

Listen to me, with your hips

Clutch this line in the fleshy grip of bold thighs

Eat through your ears and drink through your pores

and if you see me splashed across a page

Know that a leaf is a tongue that you wear to make love

to a voice not your own, eat this poem

Floss with the barbed length of a simile

and scrape your tongue across the living verses

bristling skin my I is just my I I promise

I believe in closure but not in hospital corners

the way first principles are real but untraceable see

God is meaning, means becoming, means I knock before I come in

Means I wriggle through the riddle of the flesh to out sweat it

Means I wear my impertinence upon my fluttering lip

My refusal to bow out to some abstract curtain

and exist backstage by the sandbags and pulleys

Hell f___ing no! I exist to be seen

to see and be seen, to push my I to the thou

Because the premise of my rhythm is the un-apologetic

emphatic insistence of the declarative sentence

That's right bad boy, I am I is I be, f___ you.

I can speak about myself and rhyme in couplets if I want to

I am I is I be I do I self I delf I solo I dolo is is is is I I I

Am my mother's talk stories from beginning to end.

Listen to this poem with your hips..

Yes it's Denizen an exhalation of breath

and these Typicaaal Cats will make the session start fresh

Yes it's I grip tight the lemon scented mic device

these Typicaaal Cats will make the session start right

See I was born with two tongues but no green card

my skin marked by the immigration narratives of my people drifting a-part

Of the two worlds I reside in the high yellow phantasm, of an undiscovered future

I am to breach the chasm between my mother's memory and my hazy prison I so knew

Languages off the scraps of my hand-me-down clothes

I grip with ten toes the type or types are putting fact in funk

deliver colder than statistics, bubble hot like a Cali trunk

I dwell in the fertile valley between ghosts and history

subvert the dogma lefty-loosy righty-tighty every time I speak

Conjunction junction what's ya function my a__umption

that the fearful face of my future would fall and then my punching is in question

Ghosts grip my chest and I can't breathe

panic brings my c____y eyes wide and then I can't read

Roll and I tumble and I cry the whole night long

roll and I tumble and I cry the whole night long

But my creator calls the human out the thinnest of the vapors

I tease the story out the blankness of the paper

I can weave a family out the scarlet of a sin

and write the world in which my seed will be at ease inside his own skin

See Miss Liberty stagger with evictions falling out

I tap with two tongues against the inside of my mouth

Had a date with a__imilation, but I stood her a__ up

and made love to the multi-color features brimming in my cup

Because the end comes quick, ego says quit

I say work is love let my body be a brick

Because the end comes quick and ego says quit

I say work is love let my body be a brick

Yes it's Denizen an exhalation of breath

and these Typicaaal Cats we make the session start fresh

Yes it's I grip tight the lemon scented mic device

Typicaaal Cats will make the session start right (see uh uh)

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