You a fly boy?
Oh, you’re a paratrooper?
Call me the para shooter
shooting holes through your parachute, uh
Your laugh is immaculate and serves as a constant reminder of the existence of a higher power, and in my final hour I will cry out for you, god, and my momma in that order…
The, overwhelming lack of creative juices left him parched and caused his heart to beat uncontrollably. See, creativity was a part of who he was. Art was who he was. Thru his eyes, the world was a blank canvas with crinkled edges and the faint smell of polyurethane in the attic of a 17th century Victorian that had been slightly modernized with quasi lavish amenities such as a wireless internet connection, flat screen plasma televisions and indoor plumbing. His train of thought was often centrifugal in nature, revolving at gail force velocity, he was anything but a beacon of focused energy. His ideas were either concentrated brush strokes of pure genius or half hearted and haphazardly dissipated, left hanging like heroin addicts in New York City subway stations…
Copyright © 2011 Greg Leveille
Impeccable does little by way of an adjective and miserably fails in its attempts to properly describe your beauty.
Your flawlessness is next to cleanliness. Get it?
I was headed in your direction but lost a couple of seconds when heaven got in the way…
Copyright © 2011 Greg Leveille
A myriad of melodramatic miscues ultimately lead to the untimely demise of your demonstrative desire to damage decibel gauges and the faces of unwilling spectators; Prisoners of Roar…
Copyright © 2011 Greg Leveille
A malcontent metronome maliciously mismarking monumental moments
Man, it’ll take a mother fucking melodic miracle to beat me…
They say idle hands are the devil’s playground, but
Your idols’ viral videos ar where he plays now
They can literally
Watch what you say now
Then stream it on the net
Look for cameras by your bed
Every time you lay down
Loose lips and lewd labias love Lucifer
Lucifer loves the way you lie
Never letting the light illuminate the truth
No matter how many times I try to quantify and enumerate the proof
Reality remains askew
But I see right through you!
—
Just listen…
—
A couple of thoughts came to mind…
They don’t really love you, they love what you can do for them
Don’t want you to be true, they want you to be true to them
So fuck your independence
You can never be free, nigger
Complete this death sentence
H A _ G man F R _ M the tree, nigger….
…Just when you’re given a sliver of hope
They’re taking it back
You’re kidding yourself
If you think that silver and gold
Aren’t worth more than the black on your back
Don’t get too relaxed, they’ll attack while you sleep
Grab you by your feet and leave you dangling from a tree…
A black man was found hanged to death in Mississippi two weeks ago. They’ve ruled it a suicide, but I’m not sure if I believe that. Here’s a link to the story. RIP to Frederick Jermaine Carter and condolences to his family.
Nigger Happy
Her brown skin was as tough as a rhinoceros and her first line of defense against every one of the adverse adjectives literally spat into her direction by the opposite sex and even some by her own. She was shown little respect and no matter how hard she tried she never could get to that level of content she so desperately desired. She wanted to be happy. No, she didn’t want to be nigger happy. You know, the kind of happy you get when both the AIDS and paternity tests results turn up negative on the same day during a leap year, in the month of your birthday, during the week you get paid back that $88 you loaned to your brother to pay off his bail bonds man for the last time he got charged with domestically abusing the mother of his 4th child, Asia, your niece. No, she was tired of nigger happy. She wanted to be white people on tv with unbroken family, no need to weep, more than enough food to eat, care free, high self esteem, commit a crime and get a slap on the cheek happy. And can you blame her? Can you change her tumultuous and torrid, yet life long love affair with hopelessness and despair, crushed dreams, dejection and enough rejection to eclipse that hole in the ozone layer? Twice. “Shit, it must be nice to know what nice feels like every once in a while. Shit, it must be nice.” She repeated this mantra daily in hopes that her thoughts of “Maybe, I might, and I can’t” would miraculously transform to “Certainly, I will, and I can.” But see, every time she stood on her own two feet and decided that she would be whatever it was that she wanted to be she was dragged back down to reality, the happy was savagely ripped from the grip of her fist which had developed arthritis from holding on to this quixotic notion for so long. Tired of being strong her brown skin was no longer so tough and her arms were just strong enough to embrace the bitter sweet taste of the happiness that only a nigger could relish. Nigger Happy. You know, the kind of happy you get after buying a loose cigarette from Poppy on your way to commit a robbery of the check cashing place that you pass everyday after eating a dollar’s worth of “Chinese” chicken wings and a bag of chips with your clique of weed addicts, misogynists, and bad ass little kids who are sad because their dads don’t exist and who just wish that their mothers’ brown skin could be as tough as it once was…
Copyright © 2010 Greg Leveille
The hue of you has been know to turn slaves to free men and free men to slaves
I mean hey, I wouldn’t mind being locked away all day if my cell mate was your complexion…
My creative creations can cause cities to collapse
Cataclysmic captions create calamity on contact
Continents corrode, communication channels close
Civility ceases, criminality claims control…
Believing is the brush that turns your dreams into a masterpiece of reality
Sound of Thought
Brain matter shattered
Scattered
A million pieces
I hafta gather a million factors
To form one thesis
I have to
I need this
I mean its
The only way…
To breathe, its
It’s, it’s the air to me
The thoughts I think
Linked directly to my heart beat
One..
Two…
Three…
And I’m free to speak and release
My gibberish in limericks or Haiku
“I always loved you
But I became too attached
So alone I dance”
In a room full of past regrets
And future endeavors
Inspiration begets concepts
But
There aren’t enough sutures to undo the severed
Indelible scars to my character
Legible marks from the chalk on my souls’ pavement
How do you erase this???
Copyright © 2010 Greg Leveille.
