My rhymes travel ‘round your head like satellites in orbit, not even in your game I step on field and make you forfeit. Gorgeously enormous, the B.Y.O.R.S. Party blimp passed over unpopulated gorges. No print, ignoring the fame and fortune advertisement forges while you deflate amorphous—miscarriage aborted when the storks crash land on your porches. Cork the air hole of the porpoise, swim-meet the cadaver to see who’ll wash ashore first. These rappers throwing up sets to upset enemy vets and impress themselves, but I also grew up in a housing complex/project, and I don’t rep shit but my cerebral cortex—enormous muscle that flex thicker than governor Schwarzenegger’s pecs. Immense left-wing span whose shadow repressed the upper hand you use to jerk off and fertilize that line you drew in the sand. I cast broken bones like spells or fishing poles into a sea of sinking boats rather than casting votes for putty to plug the holes…
Cuz I surround sound… When my eye drops, my ear rings… When my eye drops, my ear rings… When my eye drops, my ear rings—and when my frown keels over complacent, face it, this vision is deafening… Cuz I surround sound…
My phrases are metaphor that cower like similes, intrinsically burrow and scatter under mind’s skin subliminally. Surreptitiously clamp revamped societies, I hope you never have to see that side of me—profile: A burning oil refinery. I’m on the railroad tracks screaming, “Untie me,” or better yet on the shelves screaming, “Please buy me…” You’re at the counter in your skeptical skeletal spectacle thinking your skin is my opinion but, to them, it’s just optional. Closed arms… I’m ashamed to admit it, yes: I’m an American, awaiting casting calls—my next reality sitcom shenanigan. Here’s the soundtrack to my disappointment in which every song’s a single—but, down that road, the sun’s eclipsed by every traffic signal. The proud owner of vicarious vision through step-by-step video cassette lessons, rewind the reels without touching the edges. All I need’s a blank tape to copy and learn from futures past—face the mask and start from scratch like the latest cast of “Cats”…
Cuz I surround sound… When my eye drops, my ear rings… When my eye drops, my ear rings… When my eye drops, my ear rings—and when my frown keels over complacent, face it, this vision is deafening…
