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If you read any of my stories or novels, the drama is the same: some fucked up, damaged, terrifying situation and this nearly hysterical determination to spin away from the meat grinder through language, through comedy, through metaphor, through a sort of manic refusal to give in.
“Turn up at the scene of the crash, I’m a bad penny
I’m the feelin’ after you killed him and seen the safe empty
The weight lift like payday lendin’
Face twist at the memory
One machine for vending
The other take empties
This your land of plenty?
This your land of plenty?
It was all I could do to speak gently, gently
I’m only rhymin’, where the horns at? Fuck that
But, any port in a storm, black
Landed balls deep in the landed gentry
Port of entry, centuries
Melt away at Sephora counters
My Hasidim on Broadway a Debbie Downer
Sonny Corleone on the causeway, E-ZPass past the cowards
Speak gently”
billy woods | “speak gently”