Spit Gold

I must write because

My mind must be wrapped around a Hershey bar of poetry because that chocolate makes me happy,

My mouth must morph into a boom box yet again

Because my bones ache to feel the rhythms in which meters transcend

From the inner vaults of my heart out to the bass pounding oval frame of my mouth

I need to spit gold,

And hope my drops of saliva solidify

So you may see

That what I say, what I feel is REAL

Because emotions are abstruse objects hidden behind the locked gates of our chest

And as I try to get high off of that pure stash of ardor, it only gets harder

It’s like my tongue wrestles itself down and my words get tripped up as they dance upwards on my vocal chords

So they begin to form an itchy hair ball between my neck and throat,

So I choke

Seems like my voice box just broke because I know what to say but my lips don’t

But I need to spit gold,

And present to you a poem: a metaphysical gift wrapped around pieces of my mind

But my bottled soul has been more than half empty

But it’s not as if one’s heart can suddenly stop its circulation of the forever stream of emotions flowing in and out of the body

It’s not like thick arrows have struck my brain and damaged my limbic system causing me to grow ascetic roots as I rid myself my one true passion, to slam

I need to slam an audience with a vicious five finger smack of this-is-what-I-love…

So much

That I want to spit gold till my lips feel so dry that Chap Stick can’t come to the rescue

Spit so much that the mike’s pores overflow with puddles of my belly-quenching moments

As my voice attempts to quench your ear’s thirst to hear more

(didn't know what else to say......for now I mean)