Riding the Manic Swing

Note: this is a poem to hear. It is in fact, a phat bad rap.

2004?

I be whirling
like a dervish of tornadic hue,
feeding a brain storm
flinging the blue.
I be spinning like a turnip
Turnin'in my grave ..


a blithering basket,
taking a catnap,
burying hatchets,
catching the catnip,
crying in my soup ..


cutt’n the rug


I be
barking at the sunset
croonin’ at the moon
yapping like a lapdog
singing in tune.


I be zoomin
my zoom lens
shout’n down mimes
paint’n the town
with turpentine and wine


I be
mad as a hornet
playing his cornet
dancing in the torrents
of fire and hail.
I be
happy as lark park
singing in the grey dark
outside a Wal-Mat,
holding a pierced heart…
oddly in love with who knows who…


I be jubilant with twitter,
half-baked and fritter,
flinging and singing and loosening screws,
I be ….
hopeless and haunted and dancin’ in the pain


I be
riding the manic swing.