Thursday, March 26, 2009



Its Dlux, dumb fuck always trying to lift somebody up
only weigh a buck ten with his weak ass.
This ain't leadership class. I ain't gonna fall back and trust the catch.
I don't lack faith, I just need to know. Go somewhere with your sutto locked hair.
Oh don't call them dreads, that's derogatory. Where did you hear that story?
At Fancy Fisk University with your little music degree a.k.a.
you're gonna be broke just like me. Working customer service, I'll probably be your boss.
But you don't do it for the props. Oh you do it for the love, but no one loves you.
They just use you for free studio time. You ain't the light, Shine you don't
Bulb must be blown like me after meeting your girl the first time.
Are you gonna wine? Oh some tweaker broke into your SUV,
stole my camcorder, poetry, and I-P-O-D.
Why you gotta spell everything?
This ain't hooked on phonics, with your infomercial ass, trying to sell your weak shit.
Stop making me repeat shit, I take a dump once a day.
Stop freestyling, it was jailed for indecent exposure.
You're as deep as a jeep's beep beep and
with that head wrap your lookin' kinda sweet.
You say the same thing, same poems, every week.
Such a shame throwing rock at you cause your lame.
Ahh Te-le-vision, the greatest distraction from you.
Wish I (click) could (click) turn (click) you (click) off.
The first sample was free and now you owe me.
You're so tight, (fingers crossed)
You think you're clever, heavier than Thor's hammer, you sound bama. Annunciate, mufuka. For the sake of human race stop raking our ears over hot coals,
pouring your soul is like pouring acid burning a hole in my skull.
Your points are dull. Your concepts are a bore.
I'm getting the bubble guts, DLUX. The worst poet ever!
Oh you produce too. Of course!
You have no remorse for what you've done to spoken word,
let's spread your feces on the music industry.
Your beats are as broke…,
Your beats are corn…,
Ok I can't front your beat are no joke.
So stick to the beats, grab a seat
and leave the flows to the professionals, no disrespect.


Thursday, March 19, 2009

Back Story

I want to tell you a little about this poem before I start. So this piece came to me,
I think I was walking down the street, or sleeping in my dream or dreaming of sleep at the moment.

No! It was the torment of my last dollar spent, and rent was paid, but the window was broken on the passenger side….
No! I exploring the deep dark suburbs, looking for some herb and it made me think of these words and check the curb.
Don’t think and drive because I was cutting people off, they were flicking me off, I was off in my poetry world and all over the road, while I wrote this piece.

The beast came so I had to hide my pad. I had to hide my pen or they would put me in the pen for not watching where I was going.
OR they give me a ticket at least triple digits cause shit somebody has to pay to make Portland the city that works.

You must thinking by now, Jerk won’t you get to the poem. I don’t want to hear about your fucking weekend, unless you did.

I must apologize. I didn’t
and I just need you to realize the exact moment in time this divine piece arrived.
It was a sexual eruption of inspiration.
You need understand the exact situation in order to understand the underhanded nature of this poem.
Otherwise your thoughts roam like blackjack, black berry, and iphone.
You won’t zone in, you’ll check out. Bring ‘em out! Bring ‘em out!
You can’t understand poems without knowing what they’re about.
So I must set the scene, and the stage, paint the picture,
take you there, take you back, back into time, so back to the back story.

So this piece came to me…


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