Why's The Court Jester Still Sobbing?
Godspeed to eraser crumbs and itchy socks that cling to lotionslicked legs
Unnature curves its lips around the depreciating value of all things holy
And told me to let my ears drip with a fluid motion that a musician's spirit once contained
Apprentices open appendices for open wounded glitterbugs that waffle with appendages…
Slender is the snake that slanders saints' names and etches their transgressions in time's sand
Running forever into nothing's open arms
Running into forever's open arms for nothing…disgusting
Aimless always, rambling through hallways
I kissed the sun when it turned into a plum and called it "a day"
I fall into suede shoes, blue as a kangaroo without a pouch
Lonely, holding a longing coldly is what being me is all about
I fall into doubt, clouded pursuit of goals holding out for greener grass
Pastures that have seen him past, plastered when I'd seen him last
Mastered both his scene and class, his stature, his matter of factness
His acts, as tactless as they can be, are still charming
A scarf clinging to necks in triple digit temperatures
A Beck's collects foam at his lips
Mixing with spit and dripping down his chin
I found his pen, dry and uninhabitable
But half suitable, well attuned to his current state
I loom behind a surly gait
Seeing the world contemptibly, and a girl is fate
That oceans seem to stand in the way of
And damn I want some coochie that I aint got to pay fuh
Today bruh, she and I will make love, but love wont make us
Any closer to touching deeper than each other's insides
And then my aloof mind might dupe mimes into speaking
Being the beginning of a soliloquy that makes the sun set
On this silhouette the court jester's militant and wears an ice grill
This life's ill as cannibalistic oxen wearing moccasins
Preying on all they see, while I'm steadily playing possum
It's no way to live, but it’s the only way to survive sometimes
Ironic that I'm finding dimes but haven't any one to call
I'm waiting for the sun to bawl and for the day to turn the sky to purple rain
Words we say are worthless grain that waver gracefully on windy plains
Every purpose was given birth by an optimist with her head in the clouds
And a rasberry beret to boot, touche! her nom de plume is Saturday
She'll pass the day in glass bungalows and never be the one to throw
The first stone from the hearthstone but quickly make the contents of her skirt known
When she turns a gloomy day into a bright one with her light tongue flicks
That make light switches turn day into night quick and I quit
Her humble abode and save a stone for a day I find the sunlight sick
And unable to rise and kiss me on my cheek and I need to break something
To remind me I'm weak, and she'll laugh when the wind slaps her face
Coming in through that wall I shattered, her laughter will have to taste
Like bittersweet epiphanies that cause blisters and spawn twisters
It's both plague and elixir, a mixture of death's decaying flesh
And newborn baby scents and cries and nascent breaths
It's time to take the steps away from the womb that conceived us
That we were consumed with, so let my tune lift
The spirits of the earless and the gray doubts of the fearless
And I pray now that you'll hear this from my mouth
And not image, not a sentence not a syllable not a breath was taken without the mention
Of a menacing pretension that sifts through my kinsmen
And finds the least earnest, the meek merchants
That wink and turn shit into fertilizer
Till I let out shouts that perturb the miser
Wont let him profit off his nonsense
Wont let him sell shit to my brethren
Without trying to behead him
Me and the farmers barter in the market
Talking small shit and drunkards nod off often
On the side of the dirt roads, while Ms. Rhodes weaves a carpet
From some yarn thread and the darkness in the creases
Of her charred flesh is more than outshined by the brightness
Of her smiles when she encounters someone nice enough
To strike up conversation about what turns men into synonyms
For vermin sippin bourbon, disturbin anyone wearin a turban
Clergymen then curse them but would just as quickly backslap
As wrist slap these bitch cats in private but in the eyes of the migrant
They know better than to try it, I find it appalling but I chuckle in regretful acceptance
Wishing I had a magic box without a lock I woulda left virgin perceptions kept in….
Let my docile eyes store their first gazes in terse phrases
On recycled brown pages so I could confiscate aphorisms
And let my own mind attack the rhythm in the way it woulda
Coulda if it hadnt been poisoned by noise when I was comin up
I love it but I know I'd be much more at ease and happy if I'd a never heard your ass sing…
Aint that mean, exactly, but why should I force u to endure this shellacking
I hear your bones cracking, as u ask kings why they wont fly their flags at half mast
Free at last, but ur mad that ur need for the freedom u wanted so badly has come and gone like a season past…I need to laugh, I need to laugh…
