peace to the Wahoo Monastery

my destiny is to write four bars in black licorice
convert that into one stack
then set out to redefine the term "Nigger rich"
i'm very hungry.
done asking for table-scrapplings from
neighbors who live just above me.
trapping seems in the vein of hunting,
i abstain from only the one thing.
i'm so sorry!
how could i be so clumsy to,
thrust you inside a language-game
without affording the proper trumpeting?
might make a beat from machete metal clang
i mastered the yeti ghetto slang
like nicknames of nimble and tip of nipple
metal fang
milo last seen with a poor sport with more ass
got a passport to import more for the ore stash
short leash, long lash
in Long Beach with bombast
i palm palm trees in my thought path
this is a mason jar containing a last laugh.
it isn't at all clear to me why i should be alive
Kenny Segal's drums are not quantized and
presently that gives me purpose
i know what's worthless and worthwhile
and how to build the fortress.
i've always known.
and then he opened his mouth so wide
all his teeth was showing
rows
pews
banquet halls of teeth
and he goes, "i got this one song it sounds like"
people of color, coloring.
people of color, coloring.
today they shook me down to my core.
it's nigger killer galore out there.
the truth is a golden rectangle i tried to swallow,
look at the mouth tears, my nigga
i'm really out there
all 5/5ths of my personage
what kind of burden could be worse than this?
how can i carry all these dead people of color?
all these Black and brown and yellow bodies
Darrien Hunt cosplaying was killed for his hobbies
and i love Mugen too.
that's the thing,
i love Mugen, too.
they gave us Mavis Beacon and slavish deacons.
who predicate upon
who pontificate upon
who conversate upon
but never hand-grenade a palm
they find refuge muttering the patriarchy is on autopilot!
with prayer beads and solemnity we,
urban outfitters
would like to make a t-shirt out of your
just born soliloquy.
the raw amount of psychic data that i fail to process
staring at cinnamon toast crunch boxes.
this is an encyclopedia containing the latin names of the ugliest parts of my insides
i'm choosing to use it like a compass in times of peril
no one taught me the language of Black man
i was born speaking it.
my last name means Blacksmith... and yours?