9 minds in mine, one tongue to come undone

9 Minutes of the Mouth

Flirty excuses nerds groove with quick. Squirrelly enough to use it, dirty music. A verbal mercenary I’ll let loose with this. Lemme just dominate the stage to create for 9 minutes and I promise we’ll all escape without limits.

Everyday unwinding my means like tracing sunbeams. From behind the scenes to the dark of the moon, I’ll set sparks to make stars swoon. No room to miss and these crooning missives exist as crimes to lend. I am remiss of my own zen. I admit to this because the risk of all self-made men: Propensity of a sculpted personality towards multiple anomalies potentially brawling to absolve all of me. Earning every score, burning internal wars. Make it a habit to share terror and gab it without error. I’m not sparing charity. This hasn’t been therapy but squaring all the days wild and good from childhood the fray made me the quarry. Every way I learned to parry. Switch my stance like a southpaw flicking jabs with hypodermics to stab with both hands. Blood from vermin to feed the needles ‘cuz from the mud and gutters I was reading and learning to stand. Still ill and sticking to the stance of an outlaw.

Rising out of the ground without hiding a stolen crown. Beholden quick, trickster clowns! Spreading the sound of my verse so profound you’ll be spellbound! Subconscious phonics- I’m hypnotized on it with a rhythm to ride I scrounge. Compound by the truth I choose to shoot from the hip instead of soothe insipid. I’ve deduced from my hellbound noose to never be fell down with abuse in ignorance and illusion… pouring from these skies like delusion…. in a preacher’s eyes when he spreads a collusion…. of lies and propaganda. Like a blood transfusion connected to an enema! Set for slaying…. oh and…. hive-minded conditions make me writhe and let escape my visions in a sore missive. Like 1984 with Orwell vicious enough to even the score! Better to be playing than praying. Just saying.

Disperse a verse to suture what was immersed in the future. It’s a curse, subconscious rhymes, kaleidoscopic minds, fiber optically combined to realign into mine. Map this Atlas, and reach to beseech like Prometheus. But this one’s far from divine. Find out where Faust hid his clout? At the sesh it seemed like the best kind of time. So I signed on hard and aligned every part. For the crime of art? I didn’t ask to shine, I clearly yearned to burn. Whoever found clout for my outline with much gaiety will said deity learn when I die and it becomes their turn!

Blasting back with proof for sure… betwixt to fix an errant view like the clairavoyant few scoping 2044! Get used to being used and juiced to the future, sir! And blast divine with backrhymes to get past time like Cable. Horrible disorder of words, scorching whirlwinds of worlds like a wren to a wrable! I’m something from a fable, smoother than Clark Gable. But true and undisguised like the Who’s ‘Behind Blue Eyes’: this condition keeps me unstable. No wishing for the remission of such addiction but the curse is true in every fireburst. I disperse a verse to suture what was immersed in a baaaad fucking future. Listen close with your naughty focus like a live Kama Sutra close up!

Pissed with what I saw, switched the red out for action instead. Mauled to flow, I caw like a crow! Passion from my head, never again misled. Showing Noah blows flows like Krakatoa’s lava filled maw. Clever past dread every last fret I said was raw!

Now’s a good time to find what comes to fruition, putting pen to crime with a mouthy outlaw’s intuition. Mastermind the ascending lines, offending rhymes with such precision.

Chaos flows under my skin, Gaia alone knows the path of my sin. Drawing my ch’I from deep within. Tiger’s fury claws out of reach of sleep and coveted peace in the arms of Lethe. Shaking to dreams, waking to screams, aching with reams, of revelries, devilries, reveries, fatcat theocrats on their knees and secretaries moaning yes please! None of these memories my own.

So let the beast roam a little, like Lilith’s own riddle. And what’s so wrong with my path in the middle? So strong when it’s whiplash with a fiddle. But bring the composition and harmony to the supposition of liberty and suddenly it’s public exposition of my sacred ways of piracy. Well if it’s time to reposition my mainstays of anarchy we’ll begin with the exposure of the offendee’s tyranny! Lest it be egotism to decree “Look inside yourself; see a glimpse of me!” Ask yourself again why your woman screams loudest when she moans at her proudest “Baby, set… me.. free!”