Body Tempo (Earl's Flow) – Manuel Marrero

September 2, 2018

(Industrial beat)

I was born in filth so I have my reasons to knock the rot off your jaw run afoul of the law I’m splitting doobies with my self while you get ranked on naw I never been flaw I’m aching bulletproof vest im shaking tryna invest transect infest I’m two shades of grey with a loudmouth cleft you two fades from rekt droolin booty euphemisms on my stained glass erect-ion I’m tryna get my flex uhnm ain’t nothing but a c section baby child of the late 80s raised on formula milk with my twin and some kids they called friends but I’m better off without them I said but no one paid attention til I paid my ho’s rent Will Rogers never made a joke at my expense so who’s to say who gettin dome in heaven the shooters or the looters for dollars and cents been silly since I cultivated some sense and came correct with my forearms bent my posture staggered found a good hill to bury my ills got a bottle of pills to chase the sour taste of race baiting lips and swaying hips while you mollycoddle models that hypnotize a bitch to his first vodka fifth stash it in a satchel light touch firm grip force rip horse whips ass yeah I’ll take that white mane you rode in on and sell it to the nude rider el topo I’m too fast listening to Yoko you slow as 4loko after orange sparks cans on the dashboard I ditched my passport in Paris hopped the turnstile and dashed I’m caught between rails and lurid fantasies of being hunched over your grave with that bag of blowcane and holding your widow’s hand I grew up too fast you a fountain of ash marble statuary piece of assgrabbin’ harassin’ turn the cameras on and flash him while he takin stiff upper lip service management like it ain’t obvious I come with caveats I run with courtyard marriotts and mule driven chariots deliverin islands loans and bourgy camera phones fuck that I’ll draft the ones worth saving exsanguine cored out I’m bored now I’m poppin off targets and loppin off locket chains takin my grandma to get the guillotine’s teeth taken out rearranged fastened to a necklace of silver bullets built a fence called it suspense whatever you wanna call it something else means less Ruby Ridge door hinge and twisted knives at my side bullet in my spine  and I’m walkin upright aright lookin right through you to the shit I found out you lookin right through me wondrin’ when I’ll be around so ima tell you like I told the last and the first this ain’t no pet hobby I’m getting dragged in a hearse to the sears lobbyin catalog you call success I think being a cult writer sucks less blood jets from my sleeper subtext see I learned how to dress the same day I learned what it meant same day I learned how to speak with respect same day I bartered for less than a hellscape of stress, a nightmare irrepressibly daydrunk and stonewashed dreams of shower me with gold honor me and send my ass home sweet on you like I’m playin sike don’t make the same mistake twice for another roll of the dice think thrice demisexual subtweetin unavailable women open mic lingua franca erotica enigmata stigmata ‘s warm caress, I’ll wear your albatross but never catch me undressed with a red letter puffy on my chest hug the medians trace erase menstrual meridians pull up on a tattooed shoulder blade like I’m the one you hitchhike with I’m the one your bitch ride with I’m grateful for every follower and friend that I lose the fewer ears bent my way the less I got to lose the more I got to prove to myself I didn’t consent to be abused but fate still had its way with me god’s creation ran amok and the devil fetch the hindmost, with any luck. Bubbling blacktop, no hooks a babbling brook, all my patience forsook, Halfway crooks, motherfucker all you gotta do is look, they right there in the stairway skulkin in the nooks lookin pretty actin shitty you can call me sicky all you want, I call it like I see it and all I see is trouble look for trouble like a baby on the way, I got trouble for days the company I keep fellowship of demons I keep no sleep no relief can’t lose what you don’t have no free pass for the blast we’d have in another life, no reprieve from feelin jolted alive when you cold, numb and dead inside half the time the other half the time rubbing your eyes trying not to go blind from the light that teases your lids when you roll on your ribcage as the sun comin up, the stench of dawn like sprinklers on lawns, picket fences appointments with dentists business hours I live like a wasted god, intractable and inconsolable, disembodied discarnate, deism a one hit wonder, no wonder, go figure, keep a pocket full of lint penny for your thoughts in ashtrays for childless days, they’re comin, if you live long enough to watch threads of clarity come undone, may you be fortunate enough to be crystallized enough to know right from wrong, loved ones from those that’s gone, noise from song, the short and the long, those that did you wrong ain’t remembered long, I never needed anything but what I lost that’s what my gramps said when her colostomy got tossed that’s what I thought when I watched her eyes water, when I dropped amphetamine to take me out of myself and take a long view because sober just ain’t happening with what I’m unpacking on the daily, thought I’d watch her grow old abort a couple of babies, she said thanks for the wheelchair he said wish I coulda done more, I said no problemo papi, you did what you could the gorgeous die young he said son, I’m old as fuck and I know god when I see it, when that girl said you two’d hang soon she meant it, and there was nothing you could do to mend it, your mother paved these roads, your father all he does is upend it, started babbling incoherently and I’m still finishing his sentence. That’s when I started seeing words that’s weapons, my whole life blunt objects texture gargling the zeitgeist, eclipsed by silence, morphemes phonemes velocity dimension, and I never thought my hands would close on air, disarmed defanged, a pair of trembling hands fine motor skills dysfunctional, a pen in hand scribbling abject disjecta in a crude aesthetic, a bedpan in hand spilling fluids, messthetics, helping hands on deck, hurting hands clenched, hands washing each other and cupping water, a splash all it takes to wake you up and face the day, pints per day to lubricate the throat and joints, keep hysteria at bay, push quarters in the slot and ribboned hands that pray for lucidity and nutrition can help me think clearly and respectfully, cast irony in apathy, and let me walk away erectly without another word to persevere to put the boy in his place ‘cos the lotto’s just another way to kill the day and the news is just another noise to put you to sleep today, and Babel plays tricks on the one eyed king who thinks he can listen just ‘cos he can see good as the next fool who can read.