deepundergroundpoetry.com
MirrorWorlds
Across the span of my city I’m scanning shifty activity. Blam blam! Flow blows boundaries away. Peals of laughter astound to take their place. Like a foundry employed for android bandaids. Revealing steel bold, rolling with grace. Feeling cold these days. Healing hands practicing swiftly crashing RAM from fifty paces away. Sandblasting a gritty display, like kitty litter scrapes, witty spray without pity misplaced. A firespitter quakes, twitterpated bitter stakes to fit across the page, flits of rage wish to play.
I don’t miss when I flay but kiss traditional English goodbye. Until fiction is undistinguishable like mist in tides. Scoping schisms I split, colloquialisms to spit, invoking rhythm in a blitz. Each edition tingles bliss.
Scrambling language to handle candlelicks. Angles shift all around as I get ran into the ground, slammed by cosmic sound. I can stand sonic rounds, but man, I honestly drown in the fenangled branches I found.
Shazam! Prose crumbles around me, like tumbling in a mangrove jungle. I am thus humbled inside, but pride is not dismissed. Nor do I hide or disguise my gist. Strangled by my own missive, entangled I never miss because fire is my mistress.
I desire to stick with this but from realities elsewhere animalities of me off the shelf share their own self to spare. Making the discovery of facing other me’s. Tasting the utter glee of brother-me’s reveries. I stood within the twirling words to blend created by other place’s abrasive pilgrims. Illing whirlwinds chasing what’s between worlds hidden.
Lean words those mirrormen came near to lend, flowing free, showing me, what could have been. A good win, but every world shares it and inherited an unfurled pirate nerd to try and disturb and disrupt what was never meant to be touched.
Have I known you before? In a bad place to be poor, did you show me the door? Or did we grow to adore while sowing the seeds of war? The me you had known, the we that had shown, were we wise to leave well enough alone? Clues disguised between us rides to vibe free between moans.
Like hitting the hidden G-spot for a sigh I’m splitting inside like Ridgemont High, Fast Times. I’m steady to backrhyme, ready with scat to unwind. Without fear I crow, steer my show, hurdle flow for gasps like Cyrano de Bergerac, anti-hero to blow right back!
Other world’s divergent frames I avoid. Lame, those versions annoy. Still, ill will fits in with instances of competition to blame and hence I came like Tolstoy. Nearly like here… it appears every sphere’s game has poise and lame boys for me to maim like toys.
An untamed voice with no shame in my voice but those other brother worlds held pearls without James Joyce. Never the same noise. Forever I reign and aim to employ cleaving my sound to gain and destroy, cleaving to pound and claim. Believing in my name and the pirate flag I hoist, leaving only a ground stain still moist!
Subtract the scat and on the first burst was Quantum Universe so vast. Nearly complete fiction that theory had magic hidden and the tactics of other rabbity children who’d had it with hiding wisdom felt I could still sit through some! As well if your bell rings for pain? Then bring your game, within remains a cringe-ing stain, from stinging rain. Sling your shame and sing my name!
Bereaving my sound to gain and destroy, cleaving to pound and claim, believing in my namesake, but every ride that changed like tides to wane vibes a mainstay to play the stage for another age of fray! Some had sages without rage. Other brothers were players who without disarray in their dimensions slay without tensions. Staying between layers with discretion. Couldn’t refrain from competition but without derision they wouldn’t allow my decision to plow through my vision and just be thankful for the scampering until I was manacled and tampered until channeling for answers, missions earned from other world’s turning editions as an addition to this one!
Universes get immersed but the root of all of it, the fruit of knowledge, whether I rudely call it or some other dude falls into a pit and beseeches to trust each cunning linguist amongst us, like the resurrectus of Prometheus...
…when the last thief I trust returns what the first one burned… …erupts like lust into notes each of us heard and wrote. So we swerve to provoke. I serve what I wrote. I’m dangling from Anazazi’s rope, fenangling stigmas like wrangling to scope Engima code the Staasi interloped! Not all worlds are broke but in every land this man is rigged to dig for Pandora’s hope!
Throwing off the yoke, I’m always flowing to provoke, blowing smoke until clouds form around me ‘cuz I was raised in South Orange County. When I was young there was only the hunger I found. Then some time later was the Underground. Come climb my fate unto the wondersound. Run late I blunder to other worlds all around.
I don’t miss when I flay but kiss traditional English goodbye. Until fiction is undistinguishable like mist in tides. Scoping schisms I split, colloquialisms to spit, invoking rhythm in a blitz. Each edition tingles bliss.
Scrambling language to handle candlelicks. Angles shift all around as I get ran into the ground, slammed by cosmic sound. I can stand sonic rounds, but man, I honestly drown in the fenangled branches I found.
Shazam! Prose crumbles around me, like tumbling in a mangrove jungle. I am thus humbled inside, but pride is not dismissed. Nor do I hide or disguise my gist. Strangled by my own missive, entangled I never miss because fire is my mistress.
I desire to stick with this but from realities elsewhere animalities of me off the shelf share their own self to spare. Making the discovery of facing other me’s. Tasting the utter glee of brother-me’s reveries. I stood within the twirling words to blend created by other place’s abrasive pilgrims. Illing whirlwinds chasing what’s between worlds hidden.
Lean words those mirrormen came near to lend, flowing free, showing me, what could have been. A good win, but every world shares it and inherited an unfurled pirate nerd to try and disturb and disrupt what was never meant to be touched.
Have I known you before? In a bad place to be poor, did you show me the door? Or did we grow to adore while sowing the seeds of war? The me you had known, the we that had shown, were we wise to leave well enough alone? Clues disguised between us rides to vibe free between moans.
Like hitting the hidden G-spot for a sigh I’m splitting inside like Ridgemont High, Fast Times. I’m steady to backrhyme, ready with scat to unwind. Without fear I crow, steer my show, hurdle flow for gasps like Cyrano de Bergerac, anti-hero to blow right back!
Other world’s divergent frames I avoid. Lame, those versions annoy. Still, ill will fits in with instances of competition to blame and hence I came like Tolstoy. Nearly like here… it appears every sphere’s game has poise and lame boys for me to maim like toys.
An untamed voice with no shame in my voice but those other brother worlds held pearls without James Joyce. Never the same noise. Forever I reign and aim to employ cleaving my sound to gain and destroy, cleaving to pound and claim. Believing in my name and the pirate flag I hoist, leaving only a ground stain still moist!
Subtract the scat and on the first burst was Quantum Universe so vast. Nearly complete fiction that theory had magic hidden and the tactics of other rabbity children who’d had it with hiding wisdom felt I could still sit through some! As well if your bell rings for pain? Then bring your game, within remains a cringe-ing stain, from stinging rain. Sling your shame and sing my name!
Bereaving my sound to gain and destroy, cleaving to pound and claim, believing in my namesake, but every ride that changed like tides to wane vibes a mainstay to play the stage for another age of fray! Some had sages without rage. Other brothers were players who without disarray in their dimensions slay without tensions. Staying between layers with discretion. Couldn’t refrain from competition but without derision they wouldn’t allow my decision to plow through my vision and just be thankful for the scampering until I was manacled and tampered until channeling for answers, missions earned from other world’s turning editions as an addition to this one!
Universes get immersed but the root of all of it, the fruit of knowledge, whether I rudely call it or some other dude falls into a pit and beseeches to trust each cunning linguist amongst us, like the resurrectus of Prometheus...
…when the last thief I trust returns what the first one burned… …erupts like lust into notes each of us heard and wrote. So we swerve to provoke. I serve what I wrote. I’m dangling from Anazazi’s rope, fenangling stigmas like wrangling to scope Engima code the Staasi interloped! Not all worlds are broke but in every land this man is rigged to dig for Pandora’s hope!
Throwing off the yoke, I’m always flowing to provoke, blowing smoke until clouds form around me ‘cuz I was raised in South Orange County. When I was young there was only the hunger I found. Then some time later was the Underground. Come climb my fate unto the wondersound. Run late I blunder to other worlds all around.
Published 16th Nov 2012
| Edited 18th Nov 2012
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5th Jun 2015 8:51pm
A firespitter quakes and it probably isn't San Andreas' fault. As always you're both erudite (Joyce! Tolstoy!) and driven with street smarts. Your reading is rapid fire and a thrill. Great job Loki!
6th Jun 2015 7:16am
The classic writers were debaucherous troubadora who were so disorderly. I can't help but follow the back trail! Thanks for catching the feeling and for listening!
