Buster Wolf:
And I know I could have caved with the best of these strays in subways
Tunneled for days only to surface where the wild things played
(but is this) time better spent on dodging bitterness
Reassembling revenants who couldn’t care less
Hence the hesitance
To stumble brave toward that new set of dagger eyes
Four chambers rust eaten, pass the bottle, treat me sweetly
See, it’s sorta similar to replicant life spans
Tour the water till your four years up then
Redraw your borders
With cartographers hands
Sans islands and archipelagos
Take a dose of vapor in the morning
vamonos
Wear your bones like you mean it
Or dress yourself in broken pixels
Introduce yourself as wistful
And wait for sweater weather
White blooded with
Weighted wing feathers
What’s better?
A pretty push past the flocks of flightless
A firefly in a mason jar to light this

I’ll quietly crawl across a curled spine to find
spectral eyes to meet mine
To say sooth, tell tale, or sing in crowspeak
through loose teeth
Mouths can cauterize with muted music
The cut and carved hearts of the wounded

Hey hey hey this king of the shit pile / rock a rusted crown tilted/ the slow motion kill scene was filthy/
Bored to death till the cleric resurrect/ I see through identities like x ray spex/ I’m not the one to write off or discard/ spit hard chain mail raps in a ship yard/ I will scar the hard hearted with icicle daggers or frostmourne/ fork tongue, sword tooth, say sooth through broken jaw/ broken word unspoken holding talismans/ to ward the yokai with/ smoke pipes with Mithrandir on floating islands/ I hover, brandish AT Fields for the angels/ geomancer strangles with living bramble/ veins tangled / break bread with well dressed wraiths, quite simply/ quietly composing space opera symphonies/ spin free, with a little sweet and simple numb the chest piece/ keep my ghost at arms length in a stasis/ basic dystopian funk to fuck faces/ tuck laces, tucked blades under tongues / Brooklyn bums barter bardsongs for beer funds/ where I’s from/ I sleep well in a bed of cicadas/ singing “wake up, cousin – ain’t nobody gonna save us” /

Picture this/ time spent/ in a city/ spine bent/
all framed/ watch it go
on busses/ on trains
I left behind my name/
for a little bit of fame

Artisan P:
a brick in the wall, another face in the city

i walk around as a nobody in the vicinity

who’s coming with me? because i’m destined for hometown

arrive as a stranger, moving through like ghost sounds



hope’s found, then floats like a tugboat

off into the currents with a palm around my throat

i stitch together narratives in hopes to invoke

to steady nod heads to steady keep it dope



under my dome piece are hidden all alone these

thoughts that come to life as that terrifies the old me

never mind the bullocks, i dip for Okeechobee

thru canopy roads that we gallop on so slowly



i’ll reach the outer limits, i’ll be a thunder bang

while the other sang under god forsaken summer days

break it down to pieces, tear it up like loose leaf

and put it back together as a tune that soothes me



who’s he that throws labels willy nilly

perspective only works with you split it 50-50

come and get me, i’m rolling out on skid fixies

i’ll be there in a hurry in the matter of a jiffy



we stalk nights like the shadows of old city

for dramatic effect, winds push leaves gritty

another town, another set of swinging doors

another round of drinks to reminisce forever more