Future Poems

Sneaking in the front-door

Yo, drop that bitch

Gunshots……

Let’s ride
Get high, get high
This is a proverbial lake of
Fire…

Notorious (but yet, literary) thugs

e-embalming the roller-rink

lyrically you just kant see me

iterations……

whose
ridin
real
dirty…

underground sewers collect useful shit

infilitrate the system

they dont know, cause I gots away,

my way…
high-
ways
of
.

Real boss do real boss things

0
I’m in this business 4 terror
I make it rain bullets of wii!!
My resume is me

1
Street poets in tight, correct jeans
Taking down the big dawgs
Bringing nightmares 2 reality

2
My literary pelts; or, my athletic medals (as inconsequential as they may seem)
Went through a lot of bullshit, but it made me a stronger G
Lookin 4 a way 2 get off tha way 2-hot block…

3
He may be my wingman, but he’s still my brother
An elegy of wegman proportions
Youthful un-understanding
Sub-conscious tantrums

4
Who’s conspiracy begats whose misery?
Kant stop my willful, but yet silhouette, movement…
Smoke, where I let your body rock

?
Just like the Hiroshima, I’m like a star-spangled banna; u, like me, let it go down like an angry Iraqi trying 2 protect his shit; then we wonder what’s wrong…