He is a slave to the rhythm
and he dances
his lash lacerated past weeps inconsolably
but he still tries to dry it’s tears
he is a sojourner
and ancient spirits speak to him in pictures
as he extends his branches and ascends into the atmosphere
liquid prism prose descends and drenches his ambitious digits
he is a slave to the rhythm
and this is his midnight ritual he sits transfixed
bloodshot eyes like apple tree fingers reaching into a December sky
his essence is eclectic electric iridescent MIDI signals flicker in his sound garden
he sits and travels
tangential instrumentalist waxing transcendental
transposing binary codes to good foot notes and incense quotes
conjured in hopes to hit the intended target hard enough to give the Gods above
a reason to believe in all of us again
his passion is altruistic repentance for our collective apathy
they speak to him in pictures
and his ink slings whispered screams across the processed carcasses of trees
his muse fiends for cocaine and gun powder
and as she sniffs the mix
the hit trickles into his pen
facilitating his creative fix
he is a slave to the rhythm
and this is the way he scribbles hidden pain
from his inner sanctum
artistic doesn’t begin to illustrate this sick exchange
and mere language is incapable of elucidating the peculiar images trickling into his veins
so they speak to him
in pictures
delineating literary glyphs of Cadillacs castrating Adam
raping Eve’s new year
penetrating her raw dog
(dog) eat dog
(dog) days dawn
(dawn) of the (dead)
deadly words he speaks the unspeakable bitter pill
chanting enigmatic riddles
into phallic apparatuses as he peers into the black abyss behind his eyelids
he is the aphrodisiac necromancer of dead poets
smearing see men into the hollow sockets of sable sirens
as they bitterly lament the lack of black back bone
dismembering the grim reaper’s cadaver rendering resurrection obsolete
he lives in the space between the rock and hard place
dynamite and Namaste
exchanging positive karma for God’s promises
he is hip hop’s exiled messiah
celestial graffiti writer
spirit speaker zigzagging between frequencies
intangible to the apathetic right brain they speak to him in pictures
and captivated minds cannot reside in the Zion hiding behind his eye and eye
he is Lucifer’s nemesis living in the center of his brimstone domain
meditating in the basement generating salvation for heaven’s sake
lyrical trickster attempting to pick the lock of heaven’s gate
bartering insomnia for insight by limelight he is carnal complex
he is God’s apprentice architect mimicking the master’s intergalactic masterpieces
he is a ring shout and a rain stick a bebop walking jazz riff with Coltrane tracks in his forearms
he is Satchmo’s grin he is
minister mister magic’s everlasting echo
the limitless synonym for soul
he is a soliloquist disseminating his intense elixir mysticism
city to city to displace pervasive complacency
he is a slave to the rhythm and this is his ritual
for escape…