He said he forgot how to groom himself
and his body mind the caesar caught a case of asthma,
called his ego a weezer, is it feasible the water
was pure after well no, you know,
I scrubbed his  right ear and jazzy cough
he regarded me with right eye said right I know
touching's off limits but the rules just kill it,
the mood, the cool
the bags under your eyes the cause, so don't salute the rules they pollute
they make this water clean and me solo friend, fringe I'm
no low soul I boogie down with your spirit in your coffin,
I got a metal foot on the pedal and your point is what,
they say too often
what they say man they not here this New World
New York and no girls tell the wild man in me
I can't have a degree
are you bacon or do I smell shit lover in your gut I got
power but I'm behind you lover thrice times I'd shoot
and hands down your pants we dance
is it supreme do we rub why question
when this water's got me bent
lend me your ear your hand
your lefts, no one got their hand over you
they can't steal you so no theft
but put your hand over me,
do you scrub or love me down the water low it tides
dilemma showercurtain not a public sight

I wrote this after a very pleasant measure of midnight solitude, and I was walking around my apartment complex listening to Digable Planets’ album, Blowout Comb, and I had this feeling in my chest which told me I really enjoyed the music. Their lyrical style influenced me in this, and I’ve eschewed any ‘physical’ fixing for this poem, which goes against my usual output, but I’m pleased with this, which is a rarity. Good stuff compared to most of my catalogue because I wrote it without worrying.


~ by Jeremy on August 8, 2008.

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