WoRdPLay Number: Buck Seventy Fiver.
It’s the late hours that I feel like particles, separation from thyself, further from desirables. I can feel the slipping away, chipping to fade, like the dark side of a carnival. Have you seen me? It’s 2am. I’m the child that’s been blindfold. I wish I couldn’t write, wishing my talk fit the honor code. Wishing I wasn’t swimming with the 6 feet barnacles. But I am unspoken for, I am my own ghost, transparency inherently, like the wood from my own boat. You are the beam and the nails, the crosshatch keeping hold, as I navigate us through nastiness, my imagination is our storm. Why can’t I shake this? Or erase this death note? I’m writing in the margins, floating farther from my home. A cacophony, yet probably, I’m conducting this approach. The medley of misery I so often deem my own. I wish I was wittier, spiffier, the twinkle in your toes, perhaps the pep in your step, but unfortunately none of those.
Wordplay 174: I don’t have anything to offer you and neither you to me, but we never asked what we wanted, love transcended our needs. Your hand upon mine as we drift like the breeze. Hearts heavier from handing out, canned goods from our knees. The sponsors were gone, but we were built to never leave. Because they needed us, the beat in us, reminded that no man should ever plead. And we didn’t let them, circumvented their sentence. “Don’t mention it” was conventional, and beautiful, your intentions. You cared enough to force that smile, cause it wasn’t about your grief, it was about the other half, the green-less grass, and reuniting King and the weak. And I love you for that! I haven’t met you but I know that’s how you’d act. To walk away, to play pretend, to flip the channels, recklessly. We couldn’t and we wouldn’t and there happenstance found me. Your long strands, your soft hands, yet I’m broken beyond belief. Fingers interlocked, one hand on the wheel, the other puzzle pieced. From the good God above, he glows in your smiles, and is warmth in your cheek. We’re riding the coastline, battle-scarred with defeats, we can work and we can play, but at this moment there’s only peace.
I’m just a winter-coat, puffed and fairly seasonal. Reasonably meaningless and not worth your earful. I am the peace of mind when you dislocate your lyrical, beautiful, interval of clarity, my presence is forgettable. The disdain is minimal, but we’re arms length with tentacles, keeping us from choking off, life’s liberty a spectacle. You can count off your venom armed, or let it soak through like antidote. Except this time, in this line, you’ve been liberated ten-fold. The mental essentials are like a manifold of miracles. Come alive, catapult, sanctify, catacombs. Amplify, animals, question, who’s the matador? I’m a real eyesore. I’m a real cyborg. It only really hit me when I was hit by the front door. I’m on my way out. And as Mr. Mayer played out, it’s the last thing I wanna check before I really check out. Love is the melody that I’m dissonant when belting out, a would-be carry on, but a raucous to his muck, miss, I’m the troublesome troubadour they’re asking you to carry out.
Wordplizzy One-Seven-Tizzy (172):
Sometimes I’m feeling like a walking piece of crazy. I’m my own kind of sideshow, with no ads shown daily. I’m off on tangents enough to be the main thing. Wanna watch me lose it? I can seat you, no waiting. It’s appalling, a pallbearer for my own waking. My own little zone, you can call it home on the raging. Outrageous, how heinous, how dare this young Asian! Ooh still young? Like a mental vacation! But really, is there really a point to belly-achin’? I tell you what, if there wasn’t, so what? I’m famous! Well at least in my head, and my mama says to say it. Whatever’s on your mind, son, we all get to weigh in. And even if I don’t, trust me I’ll find my way in. You will appreciate, and you will entertain this. You will learn to love your fellow man and your lady, cause even if we don’t meet your plans, we were created, magnificent and in an image we were all made in, a likeness both frightening, like lightening but amazing. You think you know yourself? Just a faint imagination.
“Wordplay” No. 171
Alright roll the tape back, play it once more, but crank it up on the playback. I don’t really see why it’s gotta be a-sap, guess I don’t wanna be gone like the 8 track. I don’t wanna be gone like your gas tank, burning cool through your cash, but we’re broker than a Kit Kat. I used to be afraid of being of nada, just a flashback. Folks reminisce about his hooks and his hunchback. But remember his baby? That slick, black, hatchback? Crazy, quasi-calm but his motto was to fast-track. He sped through his words, but lacked cool of a Cadillac, more bull and china shop, watch it go gallivant. But then they come along, all the folks and their “matt’a facts.” Touting how the tower talks, yet no one dares to talk back. You bring around your melodies, and sell to me the super-pack. Bundled up superfast, heart in sleeve bubble wrap. Now it’s hard to sleep, knowing kids don’t second glance. They hardly know a thing about patience, what’s that? Intimidated by the facts, lest they get the Can-Can. Kicked in the rump, bump up-up-and away act. Cracked in the skull and the truth might counteract, infecting convention, and the truth becomes hazmat. A beautiful artifact, recovered like a fanny pack, a blast from the past, shoulda stayed but we want it back.
WP 155: Can I make two up? To make up for my screw ups? Before my eyes get heavy and I can barely type two words? I wish that I could take it back. My years are falling way too fast. And gravity is like back hand, reminding me, Dan will soon be damned. I’m not as far as I’d like to be. I’m faring well but is that for me? Is that what this brain really needs? To walk head down after epiphany? But pretty please, I’m pen not piece. I’m vision, not violence, my intention’s deep. No reservations, I’m my own fiend, type like a beast, but boss? Puh-leaze. I’m polished, grit be gone, and yeah I’m clean. I’m safe riding, high fiving easy life, but it’s not mine, it stings like police. I feel inept, realized in debt, of wasting all the grind my folks had pressed. Worked to death so I relax? Broke their back so I can slack? Yeah I know, the curtain’s nags to take what’s mine, this play’s one Act.
WP 152: Talk, am I worth being spoken to? I’m all crazy but this mind’s got its needs too. My insides are a sign of how I’m Pikachu. Electrifying, yes, but a pretty shy dude. I don’t like to scream, I don’t like to talk over you. It’s just a habit of mine that I’ve developed from the womb. The FJs in the house and we’re bombastic to the root, hand motions in the air like the world’s ending soon. Break me off a piece of that Kit-Kat bar, I need a break cause this pace is taking tolls on my car, and I mean that metaphorically, I means it from the heart, I don’t mind this gig but the cost is pretty hard. Who am I? Once again this question comes across. Manic, he’s depressive, bi-polar like a boss. If I were majoring in mentally challenging the odds, I tell you what, wait a bit, this whole stage is mine to rock. Give me a sec, let me suit up head down to my toes, Second Timothy said we’re more than they oppose. I got power, I got love, a sound mind good to go, let it flow, with no cut backs, “Onward, ho!”
I wish I was good enough to be called a charmer, spit it like a Midwest seasoned farmer, then me and the game would be like Greg and Dharma, I’d show these nuts who’s the G Dub Carver. It’d be Thanksgiving all year as I’m prepped to carve it, piece by piece, I’d be revved to start it, so please step aside I beg your pardon, I’m madly in love to square it off at the Garden. I’m not from the hood, no need to card me. But I have no problem speaking from the heart man. I’m hardly educated like some of the hardest, I’m community college while these dudes are Harvard. But that’s fine, I’m alright, the truth can’t harm me, mind over matter, and you matter hardly. I’m stuck in the clouds like that Prince and carpet, ready to swing in like the missing Parker, and though I’m late please excuse my tardy, I’m still gonna marry this thing, y’all can catch the garter.
- Linda Su 8/3/2011 8:52pm (facebook)
WP 149 - And I thank God that you see it, that you’ve opened to believe it, that this day, though was down, has everlasting meaning. And when you call He will answer, from the morn to the evening, and even when you mourn, even more will you meet Him. I still remember wrestling with the Lord to beseech you, the hound was around, but you thought we would mislead you. I know I’m not perfect, but I got low down to plead too, seek through, speak truth, on the ground as knees do. And as the word says, heaven opens and the trumpets sound to greet you, welcome to fam, hot dang, this is theeee news! Are you ready? No more waiting, twenty four seven, no debating, a life turned around like the triple lutz skating. And yes, there are ups, just as downs, no escaping. But guess what? No fuss, of our own complicating. There are things we can’t change but it’s for our own painting, each stroke from the Savior, for a life worth saving. More than just a pager that we beep when we’re aching, a divine life line, and fullness for the taking.
WP 148 - Even in this heart I will still believe. I’m referring to the dark like the blackest sea. I’m referring to the dark like the whack in me. I’m a false pre-tense, a walking wannabe. And I will hold on, Zordon, hear me beep, my watch is going crazy cause I’m powered Green, and I’d like to think I’m powerful, even mighty. But this Megazord’s gone and I can’t morph from me. What the heck are you talkin ‘bout? Silly D. You’re a just a walking bag of Looney with no Tunes in the beat. Yer rhymes are as weak as mac and cheese. And nowhere near tasteful, keeping kids off the street. So why you even bothering? Toss the keys. And then toss the towel, make your surrender plead. What went wrong? Are you a dawg or certified G? Haha yes definitely, but only mentally.