poem written in san luis obispo

there is a mission there
is pumpkin death &
trollies there
is the super eight motel my
money-maker i am
watching cable & disturbed
by sudden footsteps i am
a mission this time
you can trust me a signed
document peculiar
thing unnotorized
i am the mission i am
ready for something now

after Wu-tang

wu-tang sword style
could be dangerous
ghostface catch the blast
my glock bursts
like elephant tusk
i master the trick
causing terror
i wreck this dangerous
in waco i'm locked down hardcore
represent
gun to neck
& one in the chamber
36 styles of danger
ghetto bastards w/ biscuits
the rudeness
the ruckus
i'm hectic
i wreck it with quickness
more rugged boots
break loops & trample shit
straight out the swamp
it's fright night &
wu-tang slang is fucking dangerous

after Wu-tang

i get stressed
crime syndicate shit
ordinary projects &
notty-head child support
spent my cheddar on gear
buying whips for
New York, Jamaica, Miami
i flooded Virginia
50 cash bends
bleeding where the pellet hit
slug burnt through lower back side
cracked spine exit arm
hospital table mind
corrupt awkwardness
my name in trouble
transact with fiends
& just get blasted
i go in the crib
got stains on my shirt
but found dead
& incarcerated
just turned a new dad

after Wu-Tang

attacks you like pit freaks
killer bees murder one
check the method
w/ twin glocks
like a sniper hyper off ginseng root
or buddha monks with owls
on the chess-box
i am the method man psycho sector
in need of re-examination
i leave bags of corpses
translated precisely
but strictly hardware
armed & geared
ramshackled assassins

after Wu-Tang

Take that motherfucker


good morning to all you notty-headed
Word to the camouflage large


Bring that meth in here


drink some good Nightrain




Verse One:

Champion gear that I rock
attack you like a pit
freaks the sound




Killer Bees attack murder one
kick it like a Night Flite!


Check the method
Twin glocks!


we going to war








Verse Two: Method Man


I be from the psycho ward






save the beef on the cow




I'm like a sniper, hyper off the ginseng root
PLO style, buddha monks with owls


On the chessbox


Verse Three: Inspector Deck




I leave in body bags


Murderous material, made by a madman
It's the Inspector
From the bad lands
Representing iller


strictly hardware
Armed and geared I just broke out the prison
Charged by the system
Now, another deadly episode




Verse Four: Ghostface Killer


hype-ass verse
I ramshack
Rap assassin quick to blast


Ghost thinks with logic
I attacked your whole project

adjacent fourteen

political conservatives
& children on television
re-write
this apocalyptic return
faces have framed
the snow
has remained
on steeples
it falls
& the profession
aroused
does not hit
i know this type
the cocoon
has still
not been able to feel
to strike a country
two city dogs
beside you
this null moment
under anvils
mortal boom
& when null is