Sunday, February 6, 2011


Don a black destroyer, dial in the closest carrier,
pull out the coupe cover and hear the twelve cylinders growl
and glance back view mirror, the tarmacadam
gray as the sky, throw up the finger that’s the middle for last night.
Zoning like a black mamba with a fiend,
gunpowder scales as I kick back in the seat.
Light up the purp and fill the tabernacle,
like incense offerings but unnecessary to call me uncle,
not snoop, not whiz,
and not cudi on them trees,
just something simple like a trill bt.

Lock, stock, and we all smoking barrels,
when that window roll down, you just trying to peek in
but we up in that high school still hide and seeking.
They say they dreamt it once, and now they real-lifed it,
I got what they have, but it all seems exaggerated
a movie script, same twist, just different blood to direct
and to play about it. But ticket sales show up, like cameron
they facelift avatars waiting to get their tour on.
Only remedy is perhaps to be a hypocrite, pray
the up in smoke don’t faze us like these giggins did.

Sha the legacy, love ends gradually and changes you, honestly
floor the clutch, but at the end of the sess, do you chip in or stake out,
lipstick or takeout, leave your mark, or eat the heart?
When it gets dark out, do you know where to park?
Starry skies above me, won’t you come down through the sunroof
and hug me, like a trillion fans, turn on your flash
aimed at the Super Bowl,
in the super dome,
like bt trying to phone home.

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1 comment:

ENZYME said...

That's some really good writing there, Ted! I only read few paragraphs, but pretty excited to read the rest.

It's either fiction or based on real life experience, it feels pretty real.

I will post this on my Facebook and see the reation.