FLY
 

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Standing alone-
a pop whose neurological symptoms
as a youth just confused you, blossomed
that fatherly distance from dysfunction
and budding Dad-absences, into
a levy-buckling flood as mom's bloody custody bath was set-
your ripped Levi's rushing in grasses. Perhaps it was childish.
That sidled grin. Sirens ring... but you popped open my window.
We'd dive in the creek, bottling minnows 'til Officer Kazka
caught us- but you got him in, soaked. That giggled laugh
was a song shrieked through the little gaps of lost piano teeth.
Or the drying oils of a finger palette, strands of green and blonde
between my Hot Wheels sheets. We grasped our hands, close.
Sinusoidal sobriety of a battered man, ghost. Squeaking soft,
you'd sneak me off. For ninety days a year he'd be your weekend haunt.
That sidled grin, covered in the lie of a jersey cotton sleeve.
It invites you in, trusting eyes of a butterfly cupping a gutted wing.
Skeletal. Every moment bare but for the caress of time's fabric.
Father sky, wrapped inside an infinite braided loop
and while he writhes & hangs inside the sun and moon,
what became of you?

Midwest town whose pretty sighs, a symphony, wedding bells rend.
Chasing down life's idiosyncracies in a deftly held net,
she's thinly veiled. This is number three.
She always seems to eventually let them go.
We both remember it's better to be free than to be freed.

Don't fuck with nature.

clever scheme.. the whole thing, but in particular i noticed that part ^

well done on the extended metaphor thingy

ooh how i hate raindrops.
they dont care if they splatter down
upon my head, such torture!
as if they meant me to actually drown...
my dick thou sucketh itself,
nature curls its lips around foreskin..
for a moment i -
masteurbate to discovery channel. reis monkeys.
always falling. leaves brushing
i remember the philanthropies of love...
giving and giveth and re gift it to children...
soaking wet lips. sub saharan heart.
Baron art.

Same?

Wow, I just typed up feed and it was deleted. Okay, here we go again.

The first time I read through this I didn't really enjoy it because I was busy doing other shit at the time, but once I finally sat down and read through it I noticed all of the little things in here. The section that pharaoh quoted was particularly good. What I said in the second set of interview questions about your wording and content (did you get them?) was all true. It's very complex. I dig it. Now let me get some of them Adderall.

This definitely had more poetic resemblance than a traditional rap verse. Albeit it still is very good. It had a subtleness to it that at first was a bit edgy, a rocky start. But eventually all malapropos gets overridden by a certain loftiness that takes on a voyage of its own. Very vivid images that shower one's imagination with a colorful metaphorical splash. Such as:


"It invites you in, trusting eyes of a butterfly cupping a gutted wing.
Skeletal. Every moment bare but for the caress of time's fabric.
Father sky, wrapped inside an infinite braided loop
and while he writhes & hangs inside the sun and moon"

Having a fatherly/ mother connotation to it I therefore am bold enough to say it also had a parental contextualization whose purpose went from microcosmic to macrocosmic. It unraveled and branched out from the latter into the former. The only uncertainty I truly felt was that the last verse felt out of place. Not in terms of the wording. It felt as if you were still in the same state of mind. Yet, it somehow lacked the setting of the mood that the other had. I realize it's the last bit, but it feels out of place almost ambiguous. Also this would benefit from some straight forwardness to it.
In summary this is a most excellent written, with very dynamic and engaging imagery. You also reminded of the existence of Hot wheels. I entirely had forgotten about that specific play thing. Ah! the basking of memories that come about from reading another's recollections.
Thank you.

a levy-buckling flood as mom's bloody custody bath was set-
your ripped Levi's rushing in grasses. Perhaps it was childish.
dope

Sinusoidal sobriety of a battered man, ghost. Squeaking soft,
you'd sneak me off. For ninety days a year he'd be your weekend haunt.
whoa...thats on some otha' shit

better to be free then free'd is a good endin'

I liked thiz...consistent shit no doubt

Really enjoyable to read.

"caught us- but you got him in, soaked. That giggled laugh
was a song shrieked through the little gaps of lost piano teeth."

"Sinusoidal sobriety of a battered man, ghost. Squeaking soft,
you'd sneak me off. For ninety days a year he'd be your weekend haunt."

"Father sky, wrapped inside an infinite braided loop
and while he writhes & hangs inside the sun and moon,
what became of you?"

In my opinion your strength is description. You know how paint a scene for the reader and find ways to turn mundane observations into the poetic (I'm sure you're tired of being constantly called that but it's apt). Sometimes I think you try too hard to be metaphorical but that's just a preference of mine, I prefer blunt writing because I'm stupid. But that doesn't stop me from enjoying your verses, as you have a style all your own. One of the best here. Thanks for the read.

thank u cake & Buddha

also zen & kin & buddha
@UnbornBuddha love your feed man. Stay gold ponyboy

This was beautifully melacholy. I just listened to The National's High Violet, and your lyricism approach falls right in line. You work in sparse images interspersed with a functional story line, rather than the reverse like most of us. Sometimes your cadence can fall apart for a moment, but you pick it back up. Moreover, I don't think you ever have any intention of recording any of this. This is your sanctuary, and I can appreciate that for the same reasons. Here are the turns of phrases that really stood out to me:

I could tell you again that being a little more transparent and giving a little more to the reader would be appreciated. But that advice felt more applicable a year or even six months ago. You've honed your style. This verse absolutely is more transparent and reader-friendly than what you were writing then. Yet it still distinctly is your own work.

Like I said in the vote that was on the verse you bumped recently, you operate better when your verses have movement or flesh out a back story rather than simply sketching a character. This was one of the best things I've read from you.

Thanks Certain. I owe you three feedi. Making me scared I'm going to have to vote on the Alias Tourney brah