reasonable

so, i go to the yearbook signing party, and i realize

that actually, no, i hadn't paid my yearbook cost, and

yes, i would have to spend eighty of my last one

hundred and twenty dollars on one. the ATM only lets me

withdraw between fifty and a hundred, and i have to

choose the hundred. i buy a yearbook and keep the extra

twenty in my wallet, with forty remaining in my

account. i lose my yearbook. then i find that my

wallet's gone, and with it, the twenty inside, as well

as my charge card, which includes access to the other

forty. sixty dollars gone plus the eighty for a

yearbook. i freak out, i cry a little, i wonder what's

wrong with me, then i remember that there's a reason

for everything and that God has a plan and in the grand

scheme of life, fifty dollars isn't anything. i ask my

parents what i should do, and they say to cancel the

charge card and go to blaine's house like i was

originally going to. they give me five dollars with

which to play poker. eight or so hands in, i've dropped

from an initial chip value of 2100 to a single black

chip worth five hundred. i pause. i think. i pray a

small prayer, and i don't remember what i said. but of

the next nine hands, i played seven and folded two. i

won seven. i go on to win the game that night, and

someone had put an extra twenty into the pot, bringing

first place's winnings to exactly sixty dollars, which

is almost exactly what i'd lost that night. i get a

text saying that a friend found my yearbook. and i

think for a second and come to the conclusion that i'm

incredibly grateful He has a reason for everything. i

needed the humility. and i needed the faith. and i need Him.

that's all.

ka-ra-tay.

yes, well, I intend to add the capacity for incapacitating violence to my reportoire this summer. just to have it. I feel like I'm going to need that capacity in reserve in college at some point. not that I want to use it. like I said, I don't like the idea of violence as a means of directing situations. but it's precisely this distaste for it that is impelling me to acquire the capacity to defend myself adequately if placed in a situation requiring significant physical... tact.

today

this is my day.

the burble of a mustang V8 and the drop-bounce twist and dip

of a boomslang hipshot groove, wait

til the rhythm hits your stomach, feel the pulse, late

cause we lay back in the pocket

texas style

and y'all can't come within a country mile

of the flow

'cause y'all don't /know/ how to kick it.

wicked southern swing
country tele sting brings
the funk and the one drop dancefloor spring

fill

let it it overflow, heartbeat, start street, finish line, dark sweet thing, that's mine.

no questions asked, she got a touch of class,

i don't need no other love when she can sing like that.

osprey

eyes like an osprey

it's the future i'm seeing

but not tethered yet

metaflow pt. 3

she said:

"i'm a one artist army, no weapon can harm me."

i said:

invincible? effect an affect, evince the truth from my mind and make me believe your rhyme, sister.

i was responding in kind. i would have her know these:

that no army, no matter how strong, will remain a unit long if its unable to hold strong in that most pertinent of the many prospective tours of duty it holds in its even more innumerable prospective futures: practice. having said this, i will desist in my metaflow, in patient wait of a better flow from your allegedly militant mind. let me hear you rhyme.

metaflow pt. 2

the conversation facilitating the flow is lovely, but i'd be greedy to try and take more and feel needy for keeping the chore of said facilitation on your shoulders. oh, and the need to do that work will slowly smoulder in my conscience 'til morrow. and you're free to laugh if and when you catch wind of my future sorrow, as it's steadily becoming clearer that there are many insignificant things that i inexplicably hold dearer to me here than my grades.

metaflow

i need to write more poetry. the flow, you know, is the way to go when it comes time to express my thoughts in verse.

but it seems my words are cursed of late. these rhythms and lyrics only procreate when the silence in my mind abates. and as the time goes by and by, the few triumphs i do lay claim to start to fall behind. and thus, my need for release is always great.

in short:

i can't flow, you see, unless i first conversate.