Aim High

Nostradamus once got upon me thus
And dreamed me up,
Woke up shaking, screaming "Enough!"

But the only prophecy he ever uttered
For Loki of Literati
Nostradamus stuttered

"I know this motherfucker be coming,
And ain't no sucker tongue running.
And his breeze stacks rhymes

But I hope he don't pass the time
Picking up the slack off my mind
Sad if one of my own kind

Gabbed Divine, slapped a shine
Climbing my finest lines
And unwinding them as backrhyme!"

Backrhyme is defined
As running tracks to double back,
Like nunchuck attacks,
Someone else's idea stacks.

Spill and croon over a beat.
Ill and in tuned to the streets,
Distill future moons complete.

Instill glimpses and suture wounds deep.
Chill and zoom on pent up things;
Fill a room with heat, just by entering.

Bust lies and dissenter's rings.
Trust inside centering.
Lust defies everything,

Just try! Better to die real than live imagining!