the basement

mirrors twist my reality sideways upside down and all around as the circle turns and my soul burns in the embers of another ego-trippin’ episode of pain and heartache, black american style. the cadence is counted by fleetin’ affairs and distant loves, bereft of a dove’s purity of existence by willful fire and callous desire. dreams flow like streams and pleasure obscures the treasure of a perfect love, hidden within by layers of sin and distant chagrin. i go outside myself to come back in, spin and watch the sky as love dies the slow death, nagged ceaselessly by false expectations come round again like an old friend, faithful till the end.

round and round i go, tired, but checkin’ the flow as life wanders past, pausin’ in fits and starts; some parts comin’ clear, albeit framed by fear. i check my stylo every now and then, recognizing my patterns, my shame and my sins. in seeing my reflection in all that i do and say my truth is flung back in my face, no waste of time or space in this eternal race every sweet taste of pleasure is chased by demons of lust and loathing misplaced.

i gasp with bliss as i am soul-kissed by greed and the seeds of material need that bleed the blood of my ancestors. their tears trace paths of mercurial fears through the haze of my self-induced daze. i lie to myself about myself as i wait – in the meantime – undulating beneath my own caress, undoubtedly blessed, whinin’ about fate as i commit the ultimate act of self-hate. gratuitous spiritual masturbation murders afrofuturistic nations, melanated gods and goddesses of infinite conception, victims of unconscionable psychological deception, imparted at the cellular level.

as a metaphor, music soars loftily, in tune with my doom. the neurotic treble tones bone the bass clef, which acts as the most def function, linking sexual harmonics to junctions of material compunction and unconscious urges that surge to be purged.

such is the state of my slate and i progress in spates of determination, persuaded yet jaded by life, served cold on a broken plate. the warmth of unconditional love passes through the glass. divine, white light shines, multiplying sight and i revel in its soothing glow. the past and future intertwine as joyous laughter denies the sorrowful cries that overlie my sighs of soul-ache, crooned soon after.

love permeates all, has since the fall of divinity to the physical plane, i am but a link in the chain, a lock in the mane of god. i am risen and i traverse death aloft on the breath of life, above strife, selfish gain and gratuitous pain, above love denied or quantified.  today, i pray.  amen-ra.

 

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4 responses to “the basement

  1. Wow! I don’t usually read much spoken word poetry (because I prefer to hear it spoken instead) but reading this I could get the cadence in my head even as I was reading. Phenominal work! (And also, the first picture astounds me. Is that a real place?)

    • i’m really honored you liked this piece, then. thank you for reading and commenting on it! the first pic looks like an art installation of some sort, i found it searching ‘mirrors’ and ‘art’.

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