The Dead Emcee Scrolls (12 page)

Shot in a storm

Maimed the magician's

Rabbit as he performed

In his dream. In his dreams

He seldom fails. He knows

The magic of the close-eyed

Angels who cast spells on

The nightfall's descent.

This night was like no other.

All dreams were aimed and blunt.

All children saw the rabbits appear

Out of nothing.

The void of the magicians hat.

Sitting on the steps

Of wood creeks and song

Dust blown and driven

By journeys too long

Ancient decrepit spiders of space

Eight-legged infinity

Webbed wisdoms brown face

Capital trades slave

Manhood's maroon

Captive of conscience

Freedoms' buffoon

Maybe at noon

Maybe right now

Never to know

Ancient as sound

Highest vibrations

Unheard untraced

Ghetto's Gibran

Sneakers unlaced

I am a powerless vessel. A reed of the wind. One of many. There is no genius of my own. Speak through me.

Now, why do wish to be spoken through? Is it so I can receive credit for that which comes through me? If that's the case then I am not ready to be spoken through. Not until it is learned that there is no credit for me to bathe my vanities. I would taint the cleansing waters. Not until I lose all sight of audience for my sake should I have audience for your righteousness never to be forsaken.

I am simply attempting to master the art of losing myself in everything in which I can invest myself

Self evacuation procedures to follow in case of ego:

Yes, the black gold of the sun

Father of Saturn

Descendent of Run

Spoonie not Biggie

Ill beats and bass

You know my case number

1,2,3,4,5,6,7

Father reverend

Mother star

Carlos gypsy

These all who I are

Stars of the sky

In relation to the eye

Third child

Of the mind of Duce

Sketched on the drawstrings

Of a noose

The descendent

Of ill beats and choruses

The llamas be Michaels

The scarabs be Horus'

And if I could Van Gogh these vanities

So that I may display artistically

The hell where I dwell, egotistically

Yo, I'd transcend physically

And become the sun

To make picturesque

This souls arson

Son, you'll never shine

Until you find your moon

To bring your wolf to a howl

So fetch your cows and spoons

It doesn't matter

What I say anymore

I am the solstice of a union

U and I verse the world

And I have the power

To bring rain from the sun

And radiance from the moon

Blessed be the womb

Complex theories

To discover simplicity

Abstracted illusions

The problem with chemistry is biology

The problem with biology is physics

The problem with science is metaphysics

Killed by your theories of death …

Prisons be like magnets

Attracting delinquent habits

Maybe that's why niggas

Steel wheels spinning

To counter the attraction

Spray my name on steel horses

To loosen the reins

Cry the eyes of a thousand storms

Galloping o'er the clouds

Chariots of the morn

Foot soldiers of the wind

Handmaidens of the dawn

The archers are aimed at the unnamed

The rain-bows and arrows

Truth is bloodstained

Yet, Brutus is an honorable man

'Though he has Caesar's blood on his hands

And he claims that his palms are bleeding

But no doves grace the sky of his eyes

And the sun still must set in the west.

By no means the darkest ray of the sun

A shaman of shadows

Cast your net in my lungs

And reap the dreams of my breath

Of these hymns seldom sung

Black's the gift

To be young

To be young

Dreams deferred

So Ray-sinned in the sun

I sold clouds in a rainless season

Nickel bags, dimes of rhyme and reason

As if clouds were treason

The warden storms

Through wintered cells

Avalanched rhetoric

Me and reason rebel

My mind's consciousness in a snowsuit

My third eye strapped in ski boots

They crucified their Lord on snowboards

The iceman cometh

Plug the sun in

A hundred Miles' trumpets

And runnin

With the music

Loop the drumbeat

Tambourine gone?

Shake your shackles

I'm handcuffed to the sample machine

Shoot the sheriff and throw me the key

Bull's eye

Blood shot

Matadors of the wind

I'm charged

With possession of illegal substance

But my substance

Makes eagles of the ill

1987?

A story of self-remembering. Season and Claire are connected through many past-life experiences. The old man who approaches Season in the beginning of the poem is Season as an old man. So, Season as a young boy meets Season as an old man, and slowly young Season makes the connection.

Claire (short for Clairvoyance): her great grandfather sacrificed the family's clarity for gold in the late 1800s.

They are each other's eternal reflection: reflection eternal.

It is the story of a vortex that opened in 1987 and its effect on 2 people. The story of 2 people who begin to remember their past lives and their relation to history and the future in order to prepare the world for its oncoming destruction/evolution: the rains.