1 toke at dusk

I don’t have a startle condition but I start my mission without stuttering my vision. Instead I utter what’s hidden with gutter wisdom. My music battles the system. New views rattle my wishing. Loosening attitudes prattling my vision. Examining the human condition. Cramming my intuition with the span of notes unplanned still glistening. Like an unholy ghost I never stop listening. To console me whole I vote by invoking a poem from the top of my dome instead of pre-written.

Staying smooth, tracking my groove, matching my attitude, picking up slack in every move.Learning incrementally, earning exponentially, burning incidentally. With a mind divinely aligned for crime, victory is mine. I rhyme because you don’t want my mind to unwind towards crime. I’ll send schisms through everything docile and divine until all your family finds is your chalk outline. Better to banter off the span of my anger like Bruce Banner handling an avalanche of granite. Outrun the span of your RAM with one swing of my Hulk hand. Clever to take a balanced Taoist stand because it isn’t anyone’s God but their path that makes the man.

Practical and poetic, magically blessed with the gift. Genetically indebted to rip, tactically invested to wit. Actually I just get it and bust a quick quip, practical and poetic. Check check, inspect what comes flying out of my chest. When I invest to jest I won’t hold my listener prisoner to my intellect with a crime of rhyme from the tomes in my dome misled from the head but deliver bonus created onuses abated like Jonas cheating fate to deliver cred from a place that beats red instead. From the start I was gifted to read chaos cards reveal through my art in each shard. Firing cylinders of butterfly effect cynicism, never wishing for the remission of my condition. Calling it my ambitious decision towards kaleidoscopic vision to see because falling stars keep missing me.