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a haphazard beginning

Im trying, to be happy, really, im trying, but truthfully im failing miserably, hopelessly and helplessly im searching about me, with my mouth laced with the taste of acerbity, fromthe disgrace of all the displaced citizens, who i play witness to watch waste and rot away from neurological impairments, because of the carless haste of their representatives, leaving them bereft of the rest of this nation, in whats now become a saddened barely whispered conversation, thats been ..causing my love for civilization to seemingly slowly die, from the weight of the pain of all these unattended cries, that feels like lead in my lungs, that grows heavier with each cigarette i smoke while, biting my tongue, in supression of saying little to nothing to anyone, about the issue ive been spending over a year thinking on, Flint, ive never been a resident, but i was born in the same state, and somehow it ate at my heart that i was able to escape.. while so many are stuck enduring such a miserable fate, though it seems inescapable no matter where u go, see dapl see all the places where theyre selling water, for pennies on the dollar, to private companies, so nestle can bottle up and sell for a fortune what should be free, and i wish i possessed the Understanding, thats necessary to understand how to convalesce flints misery, bit i cant, becuz i wont pretend i didnt grow up with water cleanlineas secured, on the blurred white side of the state, whose name i wont say out of shame for the cimes they perpetrate, which is part of the reason i moved away, over 10 years to the day.. which isnt to say i believe im safe, becuz we all share the same water ways, and tributaries.. that branch like fingers to touch.. upon 40% of survival and security for our nation states, so make no mistakes, on this, eventually its gonna come around to all of us, regardless of riches or class status, but some more so than others will be fucked up or dead becuz of this , and i wont profane my innocence, becuz i spent a long time being ignorant, out of obedience to the fears of my mother, and the bullshit profaned by others , and well intended advice from my father who always said keep your head down, work hard and dont shout, let your reasons lead to common sense, and everything will work itself out, but keeping my nose to the grindstone never helped me feel whole, instead it kept my head full of doubts, of the possibility of me being able to figure out, what quest path to take to slake the thirst born of ignorance, to pass the test to best the absence, of my hapiness, cuz i dont see the world in rosey colors or rainbows, and im not expecting every day is gonna be the same though, theres been too many days ive felt the rain without a bow yo, so in some ways its hard to know what this poems about, and because of all the days ive felt so alone, ive been holding back the tears from the fears of the years yet to come for my son, whos not my son born of another father and far removed from the rhetorical reasons of these politicians, who season citizens with dirty water, and dont bother to replace the filter, on the water treatment plant, well, i mean that, they switched the source from detroit to flint supposedly becuz they couldnt afford it, put filters on the tap to their sink and thats supposed to protect the citizens from lead in their drink, while our president reassures by taking a sip of it, as if the watwr he drank was the same as flints, and the state does nothing after the fact, putting the prologue of their offense in the past tense, acting the innocent bystander, blaming the e.p.a. for causing all this danger, and my anger is brought to an inextinguishable rage, And i wish i could give a list of demands, like saul williams, so i could concretely communicate my plans for my feelings.but im new to these dealings, and im not dealing tricks on tropes and quips just to satisfy my greedy need to seeth with rage about this, cuz fuck the rain, rainbows, and stones, i wanna grind out this poem, let my anger be known, cuz sometines u gotta let the words fly outta ur mouth just so u dont have to feel alone,

Amd i wanna make it known, in spite of the spite of thie prior poem, that i treasure love above fear, becuz love is not supposed to be synonymous with fear, even though ive found myself wanting to shed so many tears over these passing years in fright, from all the occasions just like Flint, where for the longest time i didnt give enough of a shit, to challenge profligate pain, that was, profaned upon these helpless turned hopeless inhabitants, that made it difficult to abstain from wanting to fight becuz of it, even though i knew, there was no battle or war that could be won, and my anger was separating me from the ones i loved and that loved me but i tried to maintain attenuations with unresolved conflicts and consternations, yet thers no magic to be done or music that can be sung, amongst these rage driven accusations, to regain forsaken embraces, that becuz of my rage were abandoned in isolation, separating two lovers with broken communication, two lovers saddled with self recriminations, brought from the shame of wanting to find silence and shelter in each others arms, amidst the, tempest of pain from, distemperate alarms, lauded by bigots with eyes to harm, and intentions to disarm our desire to find salvation, from malcontents full of malevolence, using unconstitutional litigation to drive seperations, between those who share compassion and forgiveness, they wanna make love synonomous with fear. But the only way to overcome my fear was to.. embrace love, and say... fuck the fear, becuz its a symptom.. of a.. frightened..failure, or an indication of an inability... to get passed the danger... of the possibily of having to live alone... without a savior, to not embrace the fact that we need someone to hold our hands..when our own minds and bodies become a stranger, as we grow old, when.. we know.. were no longer capable.. of surviving..on our own, and need to trust.. someone else..to help.. keep..ourselves..whole, somebody we can rely upon to give us reasons.. to have hope.. for our souls. And even though ive come to know that fear is not equatable with love, often have i equated it with these misplaced emotions ive spoken of. Allowed myself to embrace anger in place of Beats that break back wordy bouquets, instead partaking in sagacious rapaciois pugnacious tirades, to help appease my guilt and shame.. from having no one else to blame, because i dont wanna pretend like i cant havent never had..or wont ever have again, the sanctity.. and blessed mercy.. of love given, in massive portions.. and drunk in potions.. to stir my recrudescent.. memory, whose rekindling of the past has pushed reluctance out of me, forced me to speak of love burgeoning, that brightly begins in the night of the womb, so far removed from our remembered sight it seems encased in a tomb, a thought that cuts like a knife becuz it cant breathe into my mind the first light and so i feel gloom, becuz lets not lie to one another, love starts with the mother, yet it can be passed to the son and found in the father, but if love starts with the mother than my mother would say to speak plainly, honestly, so ill simply say that i need love, as do you as do we all.

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Fuck the fear-
-becuz love is not supposed to be synonymous with fear, though ive found myself shedding many a tear over the passing years in fright, from so many occasions of a profligate preponderance of pain, profaned upon the helpless turned hopeless that made it difficult to abstain from wanting to fight, in spite of knowing there was nothing that could be done, no battle or war that could be won, in struggling to maintain attenuations with unresolved conflicts and consternations, no magic or music that could be sung, amongst rage driven accusations to regain forsaken embraces, that were abandoned (and placed upon the cold parapet of) in isolation, by two lovers with broken lines in communication, two lovers saddled with self recriminations, brought from the shame of wanting to find silence and shelter in each others arms, amidst the tempest of pain from distemperate alarms, lauded by bigots with eyes to harm and intentions to disarm, our desire to find salvation, from malcontents full of malevolence, using unconstitutional and unconscionable litigation to drive seperations, between infinite combinations of those who share compassion and forgiveness with each other, they wanna make love synonomous with fear. But im here to say embrace love and fuck the fear, becuz its a symptom of a frightened failure, or an indication of an inability to get passed the danger of the possibily of having to live alone without a savior, to not embrace the fact that we need someone to hold our hands when our own minds and bodies become a stranger, as we grow old, when we know were no longer capable of surviving on our own, and need to trust someone else to help keep ourselves whole, somebody we can rely upon to give us reasons to have hope for our souls. And even though ive come to know that fear is not equatable with love, often have i equated it with these misplaced emotions ive spoken of. Allowed myself to embrace anger in place of Beats that break back wordy bouquets, instead partaking in sagacious rapaciois pugnacious tirades, to help appease my guilt and shame from having no one else to blame, because i dont wanna pretend like i cant havent never had or wont ever have again, the sanctity and blessed mercy of love given, in massive portions, and drunk in potions to stir my recrudescent memory, whose rekindling of the past has pushed reluctance out of me, forced me to speak of love burgeoning, that brightly begins in the night of the womb, so far removed from our remembered sight it seems encased in a tomb, a thought that cuts like a knife becuz it cant breathe into my mind the first light and so i feel gloom, becuz lets not lie to one another, love starts with the mother, yet it can be passed to the son and found in the father, but if love starts with the mother than my mother would say to speak plainly, honestly, so ill simply say that i need love, as do you as do we all.

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and love-why bother-
why, Becuz love to me is far more than memories of broken dreams, hurt feelings held too tightly, turning love into a sad remembering, of past tidings, that were not so tidy and mighty enough to lead to disagreements between us, in the not so seamless moments there were many things happening in our relations to cause seams in the creases of the folds of our skin, our hands once enrapt together, severed from their hold separated by our chosen, some might say sins, but i would simply call them adult decisions, admissions of conditions causing too much indecision, and imprisonment from the freedom of having a single thought, without conflation of opinion from another person, and thats too much consternation to be carried on, too much self deprivation from deoxygeonated lungs, from breathe held too tightly over arguments that were just supposed to be conversations, so our stomachs clench nightly in anticipation of the next fight from lowered expectations and sadness or madness becomes the projection of our depression, as for me, i was staring, helplessly at my phone while  bombastically spewing angry tirades as an intervention that turned to a maleadiction, while u would tell me u choose to shoot video game shit til u quit for the night to sleep upon your saddened disposition, as ur coping mechanism, and i dont want to be my fathers self righteous son, but god damn it woman, i wish you could see, sometimes how u you make it hard on me, to be free of his fucking tyranny, and i know ive made it hard for you, to drop the bad routines, inherited from your mother who, you dont want to end up like, as much as i dont want to end up like, my father, yet i end up being like my father, and u like ur mother, and we lose so much fucking patience with one another, that we come to this..this repetition of disingenuousness, and to all this, some might say why the fuck bother? and the only reply i can give is strangely enough due in part to my father, who told me when i was 12 years old that he was with my mother becuz he was too old to go searching for another, which i know now was a load of bull-shit, becuz im old and bold enough to know it and show it, what my father allowed himself to hold silently inside, as he used his male bravado to hide, from letting my mother or any of us know, that hes given too much of his soul, to her, to spare any leftover for another. And that he would gladly trade the last remnants of his soul, even for those moments, some less bold would say why bother.

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IDIREDOWN

10:19, Saturday

Love-

Brothers, and sisters, i am pleading and bleeding tears just to show you, how much i love you, how much i dont want you to have the same sadness wrought forth, upon years of madenning allibies used to distort, the truth, over the years i told so many lies to hide the genocides to try and circumscribe the pain of my own demise, forsooth, even after i crossed this threshold im beholden to call poetry i became emboldened but not bold enough to search deeply or far enough to find semblances to drop the line and open up the fences to take the time to explicate on the reasons behind my defenses against my sensless nonsensical distillations of rage that left me partially dead bruised, and bled dry from buying shares in the blame game and not confronting my own shame that led me mistakenly to put questions to bed, choosing instead to not question the madness in my head,  becuz i was am and will be afraid time spent on this nonesense might displace me, and ostensibly rob me of my soul mistakenly  i had to cross this threshold im beholden to call poetry, cuz without it i wouldntve taken the time to search deeply, and trust me, i didnt find semblances, from chasing fame framed in glittering convocations, to try and abstain from the pain of realizations, explications on surrounding madness, that can catalyze fears of a sickening sadness, distilations of rage i let clutter my mind, but over time ive become partially dead, bruised and bled dry from trying to find rationalizations, so for a time, i mistakenly put questions to bed, choosing instead to not question the madness in my head, but i was led back to mentioning it again becuz of so much injustice, though im hoping its not self righteousness, , more so than i know of its degradation, in realization of the role i played in perpetrations, in the evocation of my displacement of disgraces, that was placed on me by those indisposed to pose with mephostealian countenance, cuz theres nothing worse than false prophets, or posing poets prizing smiling verses, in versions of diversions turned perversions of semblances, profaning lies with sweetly sounding melodies, undermined by sophists who breath with ease, false scripts that trip clip and bring us to our knees, so we in turn spread unease so easily apathatetically and unapologetically, justified by our maladies, causing despondency to grow each day, and with growing despondancy, comes incapacity so great in sway, we either die to be reborn, shorn from stagnancy, turned to entropy, wrote to rage forth a beautious bounty of poetry, or we lie, misalign our truths, point the finger at everyone else except ourselves, to deny ourselves the proof of our moments we lack humanity, becuz were rightfully tired of tryanny, but no humility leads to assimilation and bigotry, so i hope as u boldly enter this lyrical holy threshold, you do not withhold from your own truths, forsooth your soul will take a toll from profaning untruths, thatll keep you aloof, while you get caught in the consternations of trying to sell your name, and let yourself participate in groupthink affiliations that feed off blame, that lead to isolation, and profane fear of solemn soulful poetic synchopations, becuz itd be so luminous and so freeing if you learn to stop playing games to gain gains to postpone or disown your own salvation, truth tellings not a game to gain snaps and claps from oversimplification, its shameful to make it a game to chase your name, becuz it prevents you from taking part in the invocations, and its a manifestation of your own sad affliction if u use poetry, to chase money, popularity, pussy or greed, to fill ur unfulfilled needs, using fame sex or money to substitute to coalesce your feelings of ineptitude, but they cant, and shant grant u invitations to the soulful commiserations that come about from spitting fire, to soothe the sadness brought from perpetrations of tyrants with false scripts, that want to trip clip and make us sip upon their madness. These mother fuckers must not take hold of this sacred truth telling threshold. Porque que se vayan todos, que no quede ni uno solo! Cuz when u chase fame for your name firstly, you lose the substance of your poetry

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Of course it's battlestar. You can just call me Gaius minus the sex drive becuz I have a Messiah complex and a general inability to profess anything other than my tirades of less than more so should just stop opening my mouth to spread my loco downloadable distorted flow of political commotion. in Oceans of notions of patented potions from distortions of the siuls of fallen angels

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Love-

Brothers, sisters, and any others in this room, i am pleading and bleeding tears just to show you, how much i love you, how much i dont want you to have the same sadness ive wrought forth, upon years of madenning lies ive used to distort, the truth, in my attempts to try and circumscribe the pain of these lies, i lied enough to nearly perpetrate my own demise, forsooth, i had to cross this threshold im beholden to call poetry, cuz without it i wouldntve taken the time to search deeply, and trust me, i didnt find semblances, from chasing fame framed in glittering convocations, to try and abstain from the pain of realizations, explications on surrounding madness, that can catalyze fears of a sickening sadness, distilations of rage i let clutter my mind, but over time ive become partially dead, bruised and bled dry from trying to find rationalizations, so for a time, i mistakenly put questions to bed, choosing instead to not question the madness in my head, but i was led back to mentioning it again becuz of so much injustice, though im hoping its not self righteousness, becuz i was and am afraid too much time on this nonesense might further displace my mind, and ostensibly my soul, more so than i know of its degradation, in realization of the role i played in perpetrations, in the evocation of my displacement of disgraces, that was placed on me by those indisposed to pose with mephostealian countenance, cuz theres nothing worse than false prophets, or posing poets prizing smiling verses, in versions of diversions turned perversions of semblances, profaning lies with sweetly sounding melodies, undermined by sophists who breath with ease, false scripts that trip clip and bring us to our knees, so we in turn spread unease so easily apathatetically and unapologetically, justified by our maladies, causing despondency to grow each day, and with growing despondancy, comes incapacity so great in sway, we either die to be reborn, shorn from stagnancy, turned to entropy, wrote to rage forth a beautious bounty of poetry, or we lie, misalign our truths, point the finger at everyone else except ourselves, to deny ourselves the proof of our moments we lack humanity, becuz were rightfully tired of tryanny, but no humility leads to assimilation and bigotry, so i hope as u boldly enter this lyrical holy threshold, you do not withhold from your own truths, forsooth your soul will take a toll from profaning untruths, thatll keep you aloof, while you get caught in the consternations of trying to sell your name, and let yourself participate in groupthink affiliations that feed off blame, that lead to isolation, and profane fear of solemn soulful poetic synchopations, becuz itd be so luminous and so freeing if you learn to stop playing games to gain gains to postpone or disown your own salvation, truth tellings not a game to gain snaps and claps from oversimplification, its shameful to make it a game to chase your name, becuz it prevents you from taking part in the invocations, and its a manifestation of your own sad affliction if u use poetry, to chase money, popularity, pussy or greed, to fill ur unfulfilled needs, using fame sex or money to substitute to coalesce your feelings of ineptitude, but they cant, and shant grant u invitations to the soulful commiserations that come about from spitting fire, to soothe the sadness brought from perpetrations of tyrants with false scripts, that want to trip clip and make us sip upon their madness. These mother fuckers must not take hold of this sacred truth telling threshold. Porque que se vayan todos, que no quede ni uno solo! Cuz when u chase fame for your name firstly, you lose the substance of your poetry

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-Que Se Vayan Todos, Que No Quede Ni Uno Solo
Im so tired of the sickening sadness, that i feel come about from acts of madness chosen in place of acts of kindness, and it displaces my soul, becuz i, i fucking played a part in its role with my own perpetrations, commisserations of, shameful disgraces displaced amongst the masses that had sadly been perpetrated before on me catalyzing the shattering, of hope in my soul, firstly by a host of false prophets,solopsists, beurocrats, sycophants, who disguise their malevolence, in the guise of supposed acts of kindness, i believe these types to be worst of us, latley they seem to come in all shapes and forms to fool us, mostly like politicians, cascading and parading about false promises, repeatedly made disingenuously profaned by both sides of the fences, trying to condition us to accept unnecessary subtractions, as theyre, implimenting redactions, in their, promised additions, in their, supposed renditions of fair representation, the malevolent perpetration, of the numerous protections, made for the affluent, are so frequent, as to become an iterration of representation of suppression and persecution to we the subservient masses, and its enough desecration to nearly drive me to fucking madness, force me to sorrily and apologetically perpetrate a verbal tirade upon the masses which is why id like to relent from taking part any further in this, political congress, becuz truthfully id rather get shitfaced to oblivion than talk anymore about this fucking madness, but sadly i think we might come to obvlivion if we dont confront this inhumanness, like selling weaponry to our enemies to drop bombs on friendlies who we later profane our sympathy for the destruction of their comunities dropping bodies, after bodies, after bodies, certified and stamped with approval by the companies that u.s. politicians pass laws to tax us to subsidize ostensibly, having us pay, for our own and others missery, and we have the audacity to wonder why so many dispossessed nations no longer want to be friendly with us anymore, its becuz this madness has become so contagious it has in some ways affected all of us, becuz madness does not just reside in politicians, there are self afflicting and perpetrating traitoress actions in all stations, and they can sometimes be in line with those who have the best intentions, and whether there aware or not of the effect of there actions, their madness can be shown when they dont own the consequences of their actions, act out with primal inflammations, angry emotions, catalyzed into violent verbal or sometimes even physical aggressions, and i know this all too well, becuz if im honest i must tell, how i have acted in kind to be unkind in my own perpetration of madness, how i verbally afflicted anger and sadness countless times upon those i have met in the masses, that metastisized and grew in size from sadness, i projected in angry tirades and arguments, trying to gain conversational points in meaninglessness, as a useful distraction to avoid conversations that were honest, taking too much time to find the pointlessness in this behavior, so that when i finally find the time to realize im in some fucking danger, its so deeply embedded in my mind, its in my collective unconsciousness, a roitine hard to break from repetitions as compensations for not facing my sadness. And so i let my body control my mind instead of my mind controlling my body, but over time i came to find i had lost so much control of my body that i became in kind like the perpetrator, agitator, and traitor, i complained so many times of inflaming my own sadness, i mean what fucking madness, but im so fucking tired of this sadness, this propagation of helplessness and perpetration of madness in place of having to face our own sadness and confront conversations in congress about the real agitators perpetrators traitors to human beings in their inhuman desecration of their own well being, i mean, for instance in politics, you can have your either or, im sorry but im choosing neither nor, becuz neither represents us any more, im not saying they ever represented anything more than playing whore for their donors, but now were on the precipice of not existing anymore, and either or has no solutions in store to solve this, so we need to talk about this, and i got no answers to this mess, but if you think im gonna take the lesser evil im sorry to say ill take the lesser road becuz ive played that game before of eiher or and found nothing more than emptiness, sadness, the perpetration of further madness to come about from making concecescions on my concscience. but it goes further than this, because were all engrossed in this madness, when we refuse to deal with our sadness and perpetrate it on the masses instead of facing the perpetrators who have afflicted so much damage, So as my friend monique gabrielle salazar would say and as the argentinians once did-Que Se Vayan Todos, Que No Quede Ni Uno Solo, and you might think im fucking loco, but i think all false prophets, solopsists, beurocrats, and sycophants must go, becuz i dont want to be perpetrating my madness with either or, and id rather choose neither nor, have a chance at something more than having to deal with so much sickening sadness anymore. But further than that and at the very least, im tired of my perpetrations, and instigations of beast-ly recriminations on those that disagree with my assertions, becuz i dont want to turn into a false prophet, solopsist, beurocrat, or sycophant selling lies and creating alibis just to deal with the demise of my capacity to remain human.

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W30 door 22 broken

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dedication
Hey poet, hey poet, ya you, and you and you and all of u and so many others not even in this room, let me mention to u a few names that brought my mind to bear on this poetry game, brought me back to this space over and over again to search for grace that i had displaced in my friend-less malevolent arrogance of gloom, till a few months back i came into this room and was assaulted by the thunderous booming delectably endearing profanity laced poem by prim one, u know the one where he says fuck em. And my childhood sardonic sensibilites were enchanted by cleverly rapaciously paced profanities, cuz when u say the word fuck properly in some powerfully profound poetry u forever endear urself to me. that same night i saw nick, u know as in nick, that looks like hes about to tear the flesh from below his armhairs, as across the room his voice resounds and sounds like wolverine unbound, in his gruff huff huff and puff blow the house down potency of poetic patience and persistence that knows no bounds , singing his comic book hero like insistent and reisistant song that mother fuckers better recognize if theyre not villainous frauds. Monique Gabrielle Salazar, ur a fucking shooting star I think I remember seeing u work at tannin wine bar, with that mundane look of somebody saying please blow my mother fucking brains out right now, I know becuz I've had that look as well but thankfully u were able to necromance urself out of that spell to share your ghost stories in all their resplendent glory. mother fucking jermaine, that little shitty sounding diddy was for u man because no matter how shitty its at at the one one seven seven ur always singing like life were fucking heaven, which is a good contrast to my sarcasm so thank you man, i hope u plan to keep coming back again and again, but if not,  its ok as long as u keep singing away my pain at the one one seven seven. andria goddamnya betta findya asitta cuz you gotta lotta sweetpoetic sassyness to ya sista, fuck ill babbysit for ya, so these motherfucks can hearya, betta you than me as my rhyme schemes r pretty crusty, rusty but u got the performative stuff im missing, so come on back sister, then there was the one, who pierced my brain like the sliver of the sun to burnish and brighten with his performative poetic enlightenment, shu mother fucking shin shaw the poetic godfather of us all, and if i had a fraction of his dedication, id die of a heart attack from jubilacious, contagious rapid heart pounding satisfaction. his resurrection is the stuff made of poetic hero like legend, speaking of heroes id be a fucking zero if i did not say something in regards to taylor, the only mother fucker in this place that ive seen have the grace to reach down to the ground to help up a fucking stranger from the pavement, that everyone including myself was avoiding from helping becuz of his possible violent dumb drunk derrangement, only someone with a heart the size and power of the sun would be stolid enough to resist the death hollow pull, the bombardment and cataclysmic fall of the surrounding stars, to hold their ground and resound with grace filled welcomings to everyone who comes into the arts bar. tyler ripcord rage and slay the mother fucking mic shay, thank u for ur honesty, ur sincerity, and ur full fledged dedication to the game of poetry, for the ride u gave me to junction city, and for conversations u had with me, uv come a long way and i hope to be there to see many more nights and days in which u have the opportunity, to set the mic aflame with ur hearts expanding luminosity. Rosalinda sadgirl, oooh girl, you got some swirl tongue twirl ill snarl acerbic vitriolic quixotic exotic neurotic despotic thugtonictastic bombastic shit, and i like it. Suprisingly it took till last week before i heard mr nightlife read his poetry, and he left no doubt in regards to the alchemy of his expressions of spiritual awakening, and i was already aware of his generosity that he had immediately showed upon meeting me, his commitment to mentoring and tutelage to the young bucks, means so very much to me, speaking of young, spezia zoey, kj and some others whose names i cant recall because im too fucking old to remember a fucking thing, kids keep singing, slinging and rhyming ur shit cuz i like it. And truthfully all of youses who step to this mike are my muses i dont choose this but i wont refuse this calling, becuz its nearly the only thing keeping me from falling, as there are 2 not mentioned not poets but need not words or phrases to have shown me the elegance, the sustenance and the essence of the soul of a poet. Without them both this wouldve been only a half of a half which is a quarter of what this couldve been, as that quarter became a half thankfully in the end, becuz i can still occasionaly see the son whose not my son.
Corbin, i hope someday u understand i never abstained from your company out of any shame or apathy, i just didnt want u to be like me, not the bad parts of me, so i foolishly tried to show u only the best parts of me, but somehow i ended up feeling like i still showed you the worst of me, as i denied the grace inside me, tried to hide myself away from thee when i was in a mad fury, and eventually occassionally i snarled at u self righteously, impulsively and unpredictably, and now even thou im ready to let u see some of the parts i was trying to hide from thee im left with half of a whole of ur company, which is better than a quarter and better still than none at all, but still id rather have u and ur mother than this poetic spell ive been cast under. But ill settle for my muses and the moments I've gotten and will get with u to inspire me to strategize my poetic musings to synchronize with my integrity and honesty, to utilize the love you and ur mother shared with me, a love of which will fill my heart with all the poetry, that could fill the hearts of all the poets in this room and beat back their feelings of doom and gloom. Ur love brings back the memory of the spaces of my lost grace, brings me back to the paces where I lost my place, sustains me and evokes what little grace I have left to displace in my haphazard poetry, and I owe u that refound commitment to myself which I'll never put back upon the shelf but work on mastering for myself for the rest of my life, and hopefully beyond, for all eternity.

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Kj,francis

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