inspired by jay-z (open letter)

spit when you’re supposed to not after you’re spoken to

keep your seeds in their Cossack house, mouths with mountain hands

high cheekbones and a flat nose, can’t breathe but can do, the bikram yoga pose of mountains in the blown up buddha statues from khatmandu

timbuktu and the yellow scrolls

everything we know spoken in parchment, in parcels, bill parcells, lighting quick offense, expense…. eve, know we’re all gonna learn today

not to heed strangers

spit their seeds from your mouth, let them sprout in your spit

through the air to your feet, opera muse…. sick, suck, yaks mountain sick.

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