Master Thesis

This is the master thesis underneath the deepness //
Come to Mic Club dot net where you can read this //
Run a plot on the map in hyperspatia //
From the Society for Scientific Exploration //
Color is vibration, vibration is sound //
Sound resonates through the mouth, check it out //
What I say vibrates no less than nine ways //
South, South-East, West, South-West, East, North, North-East, North-West //
And the black and white images fade into gray sound waves //
Trap my adversaries like a mouse in a maze //
With a bewildering array of lyrical display //
The best of ‘Bis, orbitally rearranged //
Monoatomic elements with an adept intelligence //
The highest professorship, my English etiquette //
Compels me to not say it if I can’t spell it, bitch //
My circularized third eye sees all //
Atlantis was surrounded by four sea walls //
I read one fourth of the Library of Alexandria //
Before it was burned to the floor //
I wish I could have learned more //
About the shapes of the sacred geometry they used to draw //
They were new millennium, but Euclidean in form //
Ancient in many ways but not nearly as old //
Carved in Egyptian gold, molded in Assyria //
With processed beryllium by the quintillion //
They cooked on symmetrical stoves //
With my logo etched above the hole where they inserted the coal //
And they barbecued birds to the bone //
And they burned incense in a Buckminster-Fuller type dome //
I talked to Mister Fuller over the phone //
And he said he had a contract to rebuild Rome //
He said he didn’t want to do it alone //
I told him I was busy writing poems but I’d think about going //
The process was slow and the doe was low //
But I took it as the perfect opportunity to grow //
Plus I had never traveled that far from home //
But I had heard about the beauty of Cydonian snow //
Neon green grass, statues made of translucent glass //
I’d be crazy to pass, I like Altarian Jazz //
The Blue Twilight Band that plays tunes from a laser black sax //
It sounds so laid back, it helps me relax, I bought the album after seeing K-PAX //
Oh, how I miss my nautilus //
I was told pharyngoamygdalitis did not exist //
You have a minor case of scaphocephalous //
I’ll prescribe some neo-gothic antibiotics //
Words concocted from the lyrical locksmith //
Deadly as ten droplets of Ricin Toxin //
From every angle the competition gets boxed in //
As Dr. ‘C’ indoctrinates his doctrine //
Translated the English alphabet to the omega text //
Life is now but death is next //
Post bond out on bail in the belly of Hell //
Communicate through diatonic and pentatonic scale //
These dark side tales might effect sales //
I set sail and hunt down erect sperm whales //
Used an aphrodisiac to get a female, called Ginger, tie her up and drink her gingerale //
Grand Marmier for me, Scotch on the rocks for you //
Your vocab. is smaller than a cockatoo’s //
In the studio with James Lipton and reminiscing //
About the script that was written before the beginning //
All of a sudden the boos turn to applause //
My jaw is stronger than a Kenenday Macaw’s //
Can’t even count the bars I’ve extended so far //
Don’t want to rap no more, it’s been so long //
I wish the clock would hurry up and tick //
I’m out in the bush and the sticks humping a hundred klicks //
Dr. Scholls gave me a good fit //
Me and him went to school together back in ’86 //
When I was really ill //
Putting Planck energy in a rhyme the size of a Tylenol pill //
You want to laugh now? And cast your belligerent doubt //
I’ll show you what poetry is really about //
The side effects will make you pass out //
Followed by skin rash, itching, diarrhea, nausea, and dry mouth //
You want a time out? You better spit a rhyme out //
Before the community of real emcees die out //
College students say to me, “You ain’t smart!” //
Record label A&R’s say, “This ain’t art!” //
These are the contents of the covenant of the Ark //
Listen to my chest beat, tell me this ain’t heart //
You’ve got to be as obsequious as the disciples of Jesus //
This is my Master Thesis. //