The Path

I don’t expect directions
they’re useless anyway

as my reference

I’ll have to depend upon
my own voice

tending to my own discrete guilt
swearing back as I hope

nobody’s notice in the clouds
nobody’s thoughts in the darkness

to make it seem better
I’ll imagine a Hero

just so not to remember how much
measured haunts my own stairs

listening too long
becoming so too commonplace

dying while my own shadow is so sucked in
moaning a web of a useful-less view

pigeonholes
to cover my own liars

Advertisements

mute…no?

assassination of heroics

Your point of heroics you so excitingly take as risk
when it just means you’re a jackass, just took six bullets to the heart,
from a gun loaded with somebody’s unmentioned soul.
When your first word, first verb of action, should of penetrated,
cut through, bust somebody’s vessel, it left a flesh wound,
somebody took it and made you a mute,
because you won’t listening to the first verse of Do it Now: 
The first cut should be the deepest, to penetrate
No longer linked to nobody, somebody is the shit now.
Somebody won’t be silhouetted curses of ain’t it a dream
won’t be the first thing tagged as a backlash
ricocheted as pastime masquerades, as a nigger being lynched on a page.
Ain’t it made easy regular, unmade uneasy irregular
in whichever mode of horror, so subtly exhausted, so abruptly gassed-out.


From Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides album