Random Pt. 16

I’m often asked, “Jose, what inspires you?” 

Anything, really 

Anything from a guy riding a bike popping a wheelie 

To the sounds produced by a mouth that’s mealy 

I’m often asked, “Jose, what are your plans for the summer?”

Nothing, really

I know that’s a bummer

Like my neighbor, last week he was run over by a Hummer

H3 I believe it was

I’m often asked, “Jose, what inspires you?”

Everything, really 

Windy City Rose

I’m young and strong
You’re old
And weak
I’ma chair
I tell yo girl
Have a seat
Now that’s what I call chivalry!
I fuck my girl
Three times in a row
Now that’s what I call a trilogy!
I got the best music
So pass ME the auxillary
I’m so presidential how I tweet with hostility
No thrill is too cheap for me
Nor too expensive
I got good D for you
So how can you find that offensive?
If you do, fuck it
Since you’re mouthing my words
You might as well
Suck it!

I Rather Be The Rhymer

Fight, fight, fight

To sight I’m the absence of light

3-D glasses in the home theatre, reclined

Watching Passion of the Christ

And on a Samsung tablet you type

Painting a rosy picture on Facebook

In the midst of thinking “fuck my life”

*

Alone on an island

There’s peace

A newcomer arrives

Now there’s potential for violence

Thorns of a rose with the pedals of a violet

Head in the clouds – a terrestrial pilot

No accolades – yet – I walk into the room convinced I’m the brightest

*

All is what I think I deserve

Don’t ask me why

The feeling’s intuitive

So if you think otherwise…

To me that’s counterintuitve

*

Some might rightly say

I put the lewd in ludicrious

“You’re so silly”

“Oh shit, he’s serious”

“Surprise! I’m only kidding”

“Oh shit, the guy’s delirious”

I’m the alleycat who killed George

Even tho I too was curious

*

I am alone like a wolf, a romantically sarcastic, rash and drastic, outcasted wolf

In America I am a low-class wolf

In India I would be a low-caste wolf

Feeling closer to a dog

Feeling closer to a canine

Growling by a window

Crecendo – WOOF!

Till from afar I spot a fine figure by hereself

Pending on her face…

My mind, based on her shape, tells my eyes to view her as a mate

Approaching with a comment I assured myself was pertinent

Beautiful face –

I conversate and fascinate myself

With how freely I relate

Can’t wait to recall each word I say

I think she wants to fuck, no, I think she wants to wait

Us humans civilized

Must disguise lust

And go through the motions of the ritual called “a date”

At the end of the day – PRIMATE

*

Look

If this be the kitchen

I must be the master chef

You can’t even boil an egg

So look,

I’m the only cook

In a league of my own

Thus, I am the best

Lest, anybody care to contest

Look, a cook, a goddamn cook

Say, how vivid are your words?

If it’s sexy then we look

My words become Braille

To the hand that takes a page from my book

All Eyez On Me – The Attention Crook

Just a peek, you say

Well, that’s quite a long look

*

I’m alone like Jose a.k.a letthewordsplay

My favorite term of endearment is babe

I never used the word “bay”

I like my sky grey with a chance of rain

Let divine tears trickle on us sadly(!) and return as drops of joy from where they came

The fall of water and its rise

Naturally explained is instead of super plain

The scientific mind is arcane

In a lab specific neurons were discovered that induce the feeling of what we denote as shame

Angels travel nonchalantly to the deepest depths of Hell where they re-up on top-notch fire ass cocaine

Everyone who is alive, listen up – at the same time let’s point a finger to the sky and cast the blame

*

So like I said,

I like my sky grey with a chance of rain

I’m king of a kingdom, you’d be wise not to claim

The Kingdom of Pain

In that domain it’s beyond chance I reign

*

Sulking like a trickster who in Hell became a joker

Your expertise, you honed to the highest of degrees

Tho when shown to me it’s dismissed as mediocre

Well-dressed men

Invite me, a nudist

To a table where stripping is the cost of playing poker

My actual greatest sin

Was being born sober

*

Mapping out

A rout

Had I not been born a mute I would’ve been a motor

Mouth

I know all about the world

From the comfort of my couch

Don’t act surprised!

If I know exactly what you’re talking about

*

Many outlets of the news, let out what accrues to common knowledge

Facts overshadowed by a cloud of fiction – Doubt

I look around and notice

Shout “Holy shit”

Thou be too foul to utter “Holy cow”

Nobody is not a journalist now

Living a life in which one is scarcely wowed

All I know is opiates

WTF is “ouch”

*

I am who I am

But can come across in ways exceeding plethora

Birth certificates should bear names followed by etc. i.e. etcetera

I became a snob

The day I found out I was God

My peers I treat like 50

When he jotted “How To Rob”

Cruising on a first date

First track I play you hear say

“Slob on my knob”

We both peer at my lap

As we hear “corn on the cob”

To live the dream

Is to work a hobby as your job…

Preferably a lucrative job

*

I go the extra mile

And I never ask the question

Is this worth while

That feeling of fakeness

When someone looks at you expecting you to

Smile

Don’t comply

No revenge for a cyclops

An eye for an eye

Each person, I see

On TV, on the street

Will die a death (no shit) meet a death and die unique

When I die

No one will be able to match the way I leave

Till then I will smoke weed

And be on speed

*

The moral of the story?

Deem me as you please, I can still fulfill your needs

I am poetic, elite

Sonnet #5

The soul cannot be proven like genes that form the spirit

My greatest sin’s awareness too severe to be near to

I freestyle – off the top – I can’t say I engineered it

He or she who lends an ear to…me…I domineer to

Scheme, scam, plan, play, love is like living in your finest day

Shining like a crime that descended from the heavens – oh!

Pimping out Christmas on the corner since then till dismay

Lick my balls, no thought’s unspared, my poetry’s semen – al

Grinning like a cynic as I lie to you euphoric

Truth spinning like the globe on the fingertips of trotters

Changing like a memory – it’s not the way you stored it

I liked the girl I had till I saw somebody hotter

Thinking like a pig in pervwords yet oinking like a gent

Question Demise: What if no one ever shot 50 Cent?

Chicago’s Very Own

It’s time for a new decision

Death is the goal so long as life is the mission

If I’m asking for it you can’t feel bad when you give it

So if you’re feeling froggy then ribbit

I’ve instilled in you the indifference I too had to live with till…

Should I be proud?

To a certain extent I think yes

If my rhymes are my wardrobe

I think it’s fair to say I’m not always dressed to impress

So what’s next?

I’m just gonna keep writing

Cross my fingers

And hope the next gal who comes along will find it enticing