8 miles down
a black road,
hoping to
smash before
the crash.
Hoping to
bubble and
ball before
the sun comes
up. Cool breeze
gives me dap.
Early morning
deer escape
into the last
exhalations
of night. No
one knows
male head-
space, like
loose gravel
and Angry
Noise. Crisp
air high steps
for a few more
hours, taking
arrogant leaps,
strides, across
quiet urban land-
scape. This
cul-de-sac
shakes bones
in the palm,
like dice. Blows
them thangs.
CLICK CLACK.
CLICK CLACK.
I beat back
demons. Restore
the mind to the
default setting.
Frontline. All
revolutions
begin this way.
Nipsey masters
sermons. I filter
misunderstood voices.
forming this route,
this highway to
liberation. They
say Heavy is the
head that wears
the crown. Hovering
at this altitude,
Hovering at this
altitude, pausing
for a moment,
understanding
the roots of this
volatile thing.
The road is long
and narrow. The
vehicle is flesh.
The gamble
is real, and
I redefine this
American thing
called happiness
with the metal
in my voice.
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