Friends Across the Underground

There’s a space that shows,
Like facials- seeds blow!
But if moss and vines were to grow?

That’s Swamp Thing’s origins, yo!
No, no, no that’s me romping and riffing so.
But all pomp and pageantry aside,

I’ll be honest and magically slide.
There’s a space that slows
What takes place is growth.

Well “Thank you Dr. Fucking Insight!”
“Spin it tight, Dr. No!”
Uh, I’m not in to fight the space program, nuh, no!

And while fly and quick with flow?
I’m not MI:6’s main foe.
That graceful growth?

It expresses out of the collective.
Feel what the farmers let live.
Be real and dharma gives.

I say that to say this:
All I slay and spit
Like it’s a play to dismiss?

I couldn’t be eating all that gist
If it weren’t for all you on my reading list!
Feel like I feed on your licks!

Loki needs the rest of the poet set to exist!
Real shit.
I’ll exemplify each bit.

So, some slitch, yuppie prick, in a bar
Went so far as to play the moral high card.
I’m not ashamed of my manhood.

Or how I overstand a dirty world.
But without a dirty word on the spot
I said fuck the pearls and just got hot

Reached his girl like I was JohnRot.
Brought the moral illusion to some oral confusion.
Let them both sort that lot while I took a shot.

On the real yo, I evoked your flow, bro.
Sling a clean singe-ing dream
Scene to aspire

Like the video of Bruce Springsteen “I’m on fire”!
Rhyme aside, go youtube that.
Now. Do it. Do it or I’ll hijack PRISM and erase your family!

Calm confidence is what that everyman hero lent.
Class consciousness defied where ass conscious flies.
Call that a lie?
Trace back any Southern mulatto a generation or five.

Even fucking Shakespeare had that vibe.
Montagues wore cloth shoes.
Romeo’s grandpops worked all day through.

Capulets were fatcats who’d sit
At the top of snob hill
Robbed still what didn’t fit?

Was anything you could feel in a grunt.
Real in your back.
Upfront they slack.

So Juliet wept, wanted more
Than any rich princess could expect.
And Romeo said “Fuck being locked out of ardor. A window’s as good as a door!”

Rock it on the dance floor.
Clear the second story and more.
At the core?

A fire. “I’m on fire”.
Poor boy. Rich woman.
Bored with toys. Switch winning.

Man inside from fire and dedication.
Lion’s pride, desire and escalation.
So sure of bliss, but only in service
Will we wildcats be in your location!

Seriously, youtube that.
Spherically get through this stack.
True spot on the map.

I locked that node
To various episodes
Comrade JohnRot wrote
Flip back to evoke

And it’s blue collar right to provoke!
Rue when I holler, a blue streak, never choke!

What all of you talk about develops your fate.
I read your chalk for my mental template.
Engineering everyone’s rhymes, re-collect.

Experiencing each like the Divine Architect!
Each holds weight so I re-associate
Each into a separate auto-response set.

Please, friends, keep delivering
Loki’s addicted to what’s freely given!

I aspire to be right in a wrong world.
So Firebyrd helps the core of me
Be morally set for harmony.

When the fight gets disturbed
Overplay sleights, cut day and night I swerve
The Way is right, around a curve!

Personal contribution is the constitution of pearls.
Feel from the Earth; then take it higher.
Don’t reveal at first, but after the fire!

DylanThomas, everything you tell me
Makes me suspect Machiavelli
Never ate it; just got re-animated!

Double standards, troubled hand-guards
Stressed sexual-dynamics, invest in mismanagement
Everyone’s crammed in it!

I overstand the social disguise you unfool
Mankind’s still mostly in High School.
So I cram your kind of ghostly patter,

Mind over matter, so I won’t mind what don’t matter!
Roast the jackers!
Toast a bowl and chatter!

I evoke your roll when I’m after
A classic education in a class-less ghastly situation.
Rage that can choke a bloke on a whim,

Sage from Oakland
Where you can publicly croak
While folks stand and grin!

Every stroke of the pendulum
The globe spins.
I evoke a pen of wardrums.

When it’s lore to run?
I kick my soul into overload
With a dozen or so throws

Drowning myself in the sound of NikkiMoe!
From ground something tricky shows
Like you were around 50 ghosts!

Poltier-feisty-notes who said “Who sifts the most?”
“We’ll gift you with every post!”
Fair dinkum, I laud
It’s why I always compare you to Mistress Sheherazade!

On my own I’m aware of the odd
But so many poems from my temple?
You’ve shown me the unknown as simple

Inspiration credit was never paid
But in a warm place sits what’s better made
Sometimes I create to see your smile dimple.

Course that’s just an assumption.
Making an ass out of you and umption
For a fast introduction?

To the past touching, ghostly dysfunction?
Blast from the future, to suture something…
I gasp when moved to stir.

Up front running
With gumption I just jump in
Soak your stream, sponge-ing.

Not evoke you,
But invoke we, in a dream, plunging!

Steam from wet fire
Mistress PoeticDesire
Mistress Stranger from the same chambers

The sweating omniversal nexus perspired!
Trip down a meme with
The Queen of Slipstream!

Growing and giving, showing my living
Ever quaking the buzz because ethereally making love
Was never a decision,

Just a natural aspect hidden!
And every explosion flows in
Every chamber filling.

A range of wisdom
Whispering sin
Like maestro MusicallyMrM
Showing every man

How to properly love women.
Shaking me to face
And re-appreciate my life-mate!

Sir you hold the right template.

But I’m imperfect.
Still bent to shit
While I never meant a bit

To take the part
Of breaking any hearts?
BlueBeastGirl your art

Makes me regret the larks
The flings and false starts
The tawdry hot tarts

Wish I hadn’t played as capricious as I did
During days of being a teacher-less kid.
Now I got daughters of my own.

And feel like father fear is my shadow to atone.
Your work reminds me very fucking day
To raise them so no sucker gushes them in play.

So there’s where my head’s in.
I delve into my own personal heaven.
But the fare includes tributes to you seven!

There’s always been a hunger in my dome, true.
But none of the last hundred poems could’ve been without all of you!