Long slender fingers pluck a book of matches from a glass vase. The other hand, which has another set of long slender fingers, enacts a complex dance which shakes cigarettes/ opens the box of cigarettes/ slips a single away from its partners/ held by a kiss. The hand with the book of matches knows a single chapter can open the fumes well enough to envelop the nostrils and mind, but goes along with the credo "nothing exceeds like excess". Therefore, the book as a whole becomes 451 to set the scene as a return to beatnik sophistication, the square requiring the knees to flex, to propel the Sosa Black up to the square, all to check the microphone so she/we/I/they/you/he can begin.
Pomegranate sweetness enraptures my past
Infrared lenses scan what is known to not have me gasp
Love aligns my senses to another and laughs
Laughs like the child who discovers nerves can bring a joy that lasts
A remembrance; her fingers tap on my toes, counting motions
I am confused; don't know the standard count of my emotions
She is intrigued; sits on my lap facing me, still tapping my toes
I am amused; smiles and laughter closed that chapter
Propelled to another height another level another age
Where the walking covered miles and fathoms
At minutes and moments crestfallen as hostage to phantoms
Until God and self paid ransom plus interest on my soul's wage
A bidding war for my metaphors, these phrases whittled from the bark
Skin cells held as prisoner the potential, accustomed to staying in the dark
It shouldn't be dependent on the right price, but the right price
Involved no money but what was it worth to live the life right
Trail mix and running shoes Chex mix and New Balance
Fuel the journey to the place where I present my talents
A sphere hovering above a square who presents a portrait
The introduction is mutual thank you're welcome let's go then
On the square I hold an air,
ReplyDeleteSupernatural it's magic,
I open up a portal and invite the immortals,
This is my day of atonement,
As long as I can I try to extend the moment,
these night on the mic I sacrifice my life,
It's understood It's all for the greater good,
So in the name of love,
I slip on my black latex gloves,
Blue Pill on deck,
match book flailing,
Breath smelling like cigarettes,
My art is covenant,
And the people are loving it,
I am their host,
Open arms I let them feed,
As my soul bleeds,
In a smoked filled room,
We are butterflies in a cocoon,
It's an in house flight,
Where I hold the list to bliss,
Total freedom on the mic,
The happening,is happening,
At Stone Groove every Tuesday night.
M.Blake