I am just a poet on the midnight L train
with a Jamaican beef patty in my hand,
yearning for death or something similar
like love.
On glory's course,
we come across guts
spilled in circumstantial choice,
aka fake fate.
Part Two: Culprit
I think I was a pick-pocket
in another life.
The love of my life
is just a brat
with a praise kink.
We are all racing
when we walk to the street,
right?
Part Three: Careful Scary
If you never say hello,
you never have to say goodbye.
I am done trying;
let me tell you about heartache
and the loss of God.
I am not where I wanna be
in my life,
but I am not where I was.
Part Four: Efficacious
Walking around Metropolitan Avenue,
big news,
my bodega guy promoted me
from "boss" to "brother".