Hate That I Live

She said I don’t live in a poem
Well baby…. I am its excrement
I live in the intestines and in testing
I wrote my old and new testaments
The half is yet to be performed
I’ve got an Infamous Destiny cos I
Live in a poem
This is not a matter of draft
This is for prose
When its poet season…folk just harvest the flows
When my art is breathing….being crapped on shows
When my heart is bleeding……every drop forms a metronome
Every toe is time keeping for I… live in a poem

This is not a manor of crap
Could say I’m the ish but, as lather of fact
I’m the result of manure
Clapped out with dis ease
Penning wholes in vain applause
What I love only leaves
My palms are sore
She slapped me again and said

Your
Life is not like a movie
Not like a song
Not like a scripture
Now move it along
Move it along

So I told her
Post Modernity is a techno somatic poem
Where do you belong?
How do you breathe?
Your very existence is musical
Notation in rotation and for the record….
All man does is change sleeves
Re-design the mind, resurrect a style that’s hazardous
Would it be poetic if I re-defined cool as Lazarus?
If my home was monochrome and we all spoke in monotone
Every action was passionless
Vocabulary was not expanded
Clothing was not branded and we
We were just embalmed in Dead Languages ravaged by necrophiles
You weren’t giving up the rhythm
Cos you’re not alive enough to take ecstasy
Awake enough to describe a sense of touch as electricity
Baby would this be enough …
To convince you
That you don’t….. live in a poem
Like Shelley’s Frankenstein or Kafka’s beetle
When sense of self, is consumed, by how others read you
When you assume that my heart is writing not beating
My mind is lithe yet desire is never fleeting
Just know that words are the sounds that my soul is excreting
For you…live in my poem

Maybe you’ve got a wide load too heavy to be broad cast?
Salty and Die cast
Because it’s the only way you can build to last
Maybe you’re a tragic comedy
An epic haiku
Your bubble
But
For my species
Is nothing more than sight food
You don’t need intercourse to come
Socks to walk in my shoes
You can Hate I Live in a Poem
Just admit it
You do too.

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