Spoken Words

She likes her fiction-by Bilal

She likes her fiction
Lightly seasoned with facts
Smacked his face
Not to increase friction
But for the pause of dramatic effect

She likes his temper
Heated but never burned
Ego is melted in her swelter
He learns to simmer down
And wait his turn

She likes the struggle
With sips of power play
While holding pieces of his puzzle
Turns yesterday into today

She likes to bring up past failures
His knees buckle and he staggers
Under the weight of added pressure

She likes to see stars
Aggravated by instigation
Until he takes her on a trip
to the constellations
Passing Venus and Mars

Above all, she loves the victim
Told the cops. “Wait…I hit him.”
So he could be set free
She likes the game
To be played in public
For all the world to see





JAZZ JUNKIE....- By da poet...

i am calm or am i cool ...no no wait it's peace this peace finds me when ever i inject myself with an animal that can run thrugh my vains faster than any white horse ever could

and when i fill my mind with the pure contents of this stereo hyperdermic there will be no need for a terniquet

because if i am at the half note i can smoke it and if i am singing the blues with the lady i can toke it or when i am birthing the cool i will be sure to let go of it like a starved infant i will always cry for more like oil tycoons pumping mother earth for more this drug i crave is rich in heritage pushers on the corner of the big easy blowing that scrapple from the apple in the summertime come rain or come shine the "j" train runs through the black bottom stumps of my mind georgia on my mind willow weep for me four or five times each day then again aorund midnite when i am in a sentamental mood from drinking to much bitches brew or when my afro is blue

black and blue west end blues tomorrw there will be a sunny moon for two

but sometimes i feel like a fool for wanting you like when i am sitting in the poerty lounge and i mix you with me a 3,4,5 glasses of brown thats when i am captivated all over again by your euphoric sounds when i hear the perfict pich of Miles's trumpet or the hypnotic tones of Brubecks keys taking me high as the moon that Ella sings feeling good as the breez that summer brings

yeaaaaa feeling good as the breez that summer brings

and that's when i let these notes float my soul and these words bend my mind

cuz you see i am an addict and for this addiction there will be no cure, but for sure i will O.D and die before i try any other high, becuz i am and always will be a jazz junkie