Is Water Wet?

2024.07.31

Good morning, that wonderful way.

Again.

Suns up and so are we.

A stick of gum?

Chomp.
Chomp.
Chomp.

No.

A bird feather for a hound dog.

Abe next to me on the landing chewing gum then spitting out a saliva covered bird feather.

I was wondering why he wasn't doing his usual good morning the food is on its way dance.

Evidently, the birds fed him first.

Onto the next.

What's love got to do with it?

Some questions don't get answered until they're lived.

That's one.

Onto living.

Writing is an interesting thing.

I suppose all living is like it.

Rhythm.

It's all about rhythm.

The earth plays Her own music.

There's a certain ebb to every day, a certain flow.

We dance to it or we're stressed-out fools wondering why nothing is working out and everyone is laughing at us or shaking their heads wondering what you're up to punk style dancing while the day is doing the waltz.

I write the rhythm, some times the rhyme.

It feels like freeform poetry.

Depending on the nature of the words, the content, at times it feels like open mic night free verse rap.

Yup.

I don't have the look,
But I have the lines.

Is rap poetry?
Is water wet?

It's genre from a certain demographic.

That's the stuffy way to say the music genre formed from inner city necessities, not an intellectual choice, the smart choice.

I don't stick to a genre; I write the day.

Do your dream immersed in the rhythm of that day.

Don't sway from your truth, from what you are and what your vision of what your heart says you are.

When it's raining get your raincoat.

When you're in the deep inner-city and the poetry of the world comes calling, get your rap on, do your song, don't be afraid to Keats or Whitman, if they should come along. If you come across Maya's angel though...

...say hello, get a cup of coffee and enjoy the show, smog filled shade covered, skyscrapers got you covered, it's a hot day, the ice screams a good idea so a rap lined scream for a line out of town, to some friends, to a way to say what you're all feeling in a way that's appealing, that feeling, kept so quiet, that cures the ill of a neighborhood gone still...

...fighting to find itself through all the fighting. Rhythms and city street open free verse rap dialogue on some everyday Wednesday in invisible whitetime good nighttime in the morning might as well sleep not a single creep around to mess with the sound of acceptability, just getting by the radar blips over the predictability gives you time and space to say you saved the human race if you weren't too humble...

...to mumble the lines.