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Milo
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Napping Under The Echo Tree
slizz.
when i was boxing with Vallejo
in Albany Park
it's already dark
and i'm scared of that.
or was it with Hank Dumas?
in Oakland,
by the lake
where i openly argued with my fates
coin purse bulging
loin cloth bulging
how is it these words are my ointment still?
measuring years by tooth decay
and ruthless stratagems played in the game of nights
i would describe myself as the Yoshimitsu of Boyle Heights
most boastful over bowls of rice
like i'm Caeser with the soul of
it's just a feeling really.
that being that has her being in pointing at what is.
admittedly,
i stare at her fingers.
herein defined as that in which Spirit has its Being.
SOULPOWER
SOULPOWER
SOULPOWER
this is the green horse for rap.
i'm putting my money on the green horse for rap.
listen!
the beginning is the illusion
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it is the iron veil conceiling the origin
but here i am
with a key!
this is protected.
steadfast,
intimate concentration
i've been gathering
gathering more and more of the less and less
in the wastelands
gathering the waning
in my being
gathering
everything's constant intention.
that, how did he say?
gathered, all gathering thinking that recalls.
that devotional organ,
my memory.
i remember.
the riddle written on my ribcage
the eternal recurrance of the same
the Being of all Becoming
the hammer
and the heaviest thought
banged into absurdity.
i wasted my life microwaving jalapeno poppers.
a love song for whom socks represent eudaimonia.
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