Skip to main content

New Beginnings

Here's to new beginnings/
Through the crimson/
Haze that soothed the trimmings/
Of a smoother living/
I'm moving swiftly/
Who could hit me/
Delusion grips these/
Stupid miscreants/
That choose to piss me/
Off with clueless slipping/
I won't lose my winnings/
No longer running in place/
Instead I hustle with grace/
Even if I stumble in faith/
For much of the day/
Nothing is safe when/
Trouble is sacred/
Punching the face is/
A loving display of/
Crumbling hatred/
My club is The Haven/
But I'm brushing the pavement/
With my love for the language/
That saved me from anguish/
Years ago when I sputtered and fainted/
When life punctured my safety/
Done with the aimless/
Nights in barstools/
Like the thought you/
Tried to harbor/
When time forgot you/
Your strife was all true/
But light dissolves fools/
That might alarm cruel/
Fate to spite a parched view/
I write to conquer/
My mic will arm you/
Try to start new/
And climb the scarred tomb/
Of your inner sanctum/
A sinner makes the/
Prison thank him/
For living anxious/
Simply gracious/
And dripping pain in/
The form of sweat/
Born in debt/
Existing thankless/
For tilling paydirt/
Just for change and/
I'm slipping payment/
Into the distant cradle/
You built to raise a/
Chilling fable/
Amidst simmering latent/
Filler slated/
To pierce a basement/
Hid in plain midst/
These insane mists/
Are warping minds/
Distorting lives/
And swarming my/
Cordial cries/
To hopeless lines/
Of shortened dire/
Souls that delight/
In forming sides/
I'm torn in size/
Splintered in half/
Picture a slap/
On the blistering back/
Of a rigorous wack/
Job hat doesn't dither in crap/
But lives for this knack/
God's given him that/
Leaves him itching to scrap/
Cause his lyrics/
Are pistols/
That leave him gifted and strapped/
Existing to rap/
Privy to lash/
Out with vengeance/
Slap a record/
On and stand with devilish/
Bastards repping/
A standard treachery/
Ask for reckless/
And bask in destined/
Clashes severing/
A nasty essence/
From the Master's bedroom/
Your dead soon/
And I meant to/
Respect you/
But the sense you/
Lack in measure/
Has left two/
Holes in that back of your head loose/
They beg to/
Not be passed, neglected/
But this bad impression/
Has infected/
My romantic senses/
So, clad and dressed in/
Black and pressing/
You, I laugh at your trembling/
Raise my hands and clench them/
My uncanny weapons/
Take drastic measures/
That have become natural methods/
Reach out on edges/
And grab my penance/

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Return To The Field

How often must I remain here? I must have died unexpectedly, and my wandering spirit, aura thick with malevolence and anguish, refuses to acknowledge my own death. Indeed, I have become a ghost, cursed to haunt diners, coffeeshops, bars and beaches, pen brandished and book unsheathed. I've grown so distant from others that Im more statue than Man, yet where this separation once stung painfully, it now soothes reassuringly. Lumped in with a generation of "men" with testosterone levels lower than a woman's would be 30 years ago, and forced to make due with "women" that proudly proclaim themselves sluts and will actually attempt to fistfight men if they are ignored and eschewed, as they should be, my sentiment is clear. I want no part of this generation. It's filthy and degraded.

You could say I'm living a daydream right now, a fantasy granted the breath of life by divine providence. How many shifts at work have I frittered away contemplating the perf…

The Terrace

I never imagined that I'd be writing this here in Hawaii of all places. I was the kid who wasted his potential, the wunderkind that sullied his genius through the pursuit of prestige and neglect, the prodigy that nearly failed out of high school pitifully. Now, a little over 3 weeks from my 26th birthday, Ive stepped back to reflect, as anyone of above average meaning and consciousness is apt to do. At 17, I would fantasize about traveling the country playing cards, busking, guitar firmly in hand, and writing, producing a sustainable living with my words. Less than a decade later, Ive made $1000 in less than a week off of an investment of $100 in the poker rooms of San Diego, had my poetry published in a variety of online magazines, and have recorded music with independent artists in 3 different states. Ive traveled the world and been inducted into the famed Order of Magellan. In short, Ive done everything my detractors deemed outside of my reach. If this seems self-aggrandizing, …

My Path In Physical Culture: Part 1

Unlike a growing contingent of “athletes” obsessed with efficiency at the expense of results and productivity, I love to train. In fact, I fucking LIVE to train. The understated ease yet enjoyable difficulty and toil that comes with increasing your work capacity, refining a previously intimidating technique, perfecting the firing of your neuromuscular proficiencies, and simply pumping your limbs full of blood until they are close to bursting all amalgamate to form a potent cocktail that will forever remain unmatched and unsurpassed by any narcotic or liquor. In my opinion, it even beats the height of orgasm at times. Arnold said it first, so by default it can’t be wrong.



                                                             The King has spoken.

It is both the bane and the blessing of every bodybuilder’s existence. It can leave you unfathomably sore and crippled with DOMS after the ecstasy of the experience has subsided, yet, in the moment, you can feel as if you have the body…