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Saturday, July 13, 2013

Blood Ties

"Intertwined lines meant to straighten splines forming a ladder of memory, akin dNA strands with rungs for I to walk on as they are sturdy pulleys that lever my rise. Multiples of three prime at five where additions of what identifies with self can be equally split and the first to audition is ten, sense?! I have doubts, as you mind. But faithfully speaking, stealing imagination en mass isn't as easy as once sought, gents. A Grinch has clout, your Constant in strive. In desperate search of a path to follow you remain in a lost stride since there are no parallels between then and now, only time. Heart beats, maybe, but my art beats laymen since my blood runs as deep as the roots of the Nile whose fluids mirror the flow of arterial routes, sublime. Ventricles oxygenating morons carbonated in alternation by my real dreamers' watch, spine. From a hole but still went different directions, I staid the same, tranquil state, scepter, an anvil spate where every seed planted prequels shrine. Valor galore I will myself suppose in conclusion of what the words of a formerly scarce book thrust up life's canal as birth to evolution, surmised. Surprise! Better yet, define crime, since spreading synthetic broods is its aim, my arms, scribes. Artillery hemoglobin inked on colored plates lest swimmers clot analogous to water meeting dam where Calypso rises to push dutch findings aside. Classifying my single unit into parts will never break its thumbs, which have eyes looking more at instructing my seats than your rides. Boots clop, abused clocks, docked as wooden blocks cast to net any bark covering rings of information on a tree's hide. Aged sets of dirt's breaths that only my love gets that when the captain hooks, he gets neither the beat nor the drum, just guides. Broken gps systems in distress bliss says give it a rest but this tethered nomad on my shadow is continuously studying my birds nest, eyeing what it sees thus wish its animal had wings, eventually goes ire. Mad Men land in muddy streams rowing boats with stolen strings of tying together life in knots as does this Bantu tongue, tried and true, tested in brute, goons of past blown away like chaff as they traversed naming themselves kings in a jungle of my Queens' Prides."


From a hole to a Hill, Joseph
'Humble African'




Mitishamba
"Bloody Green!!"      

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