THE MUSIC FOR THIS GUERILLA SCROLL...
http://youtu.be/
As the winter lays its cold fingers on the vestiges of my mantality in the fringes of my versatility where I scribble images of all these things.
Unrestrained, never tamed and perceived as insane when these words enter hyper velosity. traveling in the nether of the regions of thee.
A guerilla of the umpteenth degree as I meditate and manifest in spiritual scroll mode... on this abode... a spaceship bearing the verbalistic motherlode.
A poet does not live in one world or dwell on one plane as color splashes across a mental screen.
Abstract abstractions of alphabetic mosaics and pictorial scenes that reside in these melanin based genes.
Where cold blood flows through the ventricals of this nappy ass heart to be reborn as hot fyah lava flows on this parchment.
Where lives are still formed and lost in the ghettos and tenements where people still raise their hands and give testament to being heavensent.
A box is but a box only if you live in its confines and restrictions. hypocrisies and contradictions.
Cold is the wind that blows across the plain of lost souls where we have been deposited after such auspicious beginnings.
Ice and fire.
Fire and ice.
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