from the back of your notebook...

or make it up in in the 'post' box as you go



doesn't have to make sense

nor end properly



1 line or a thousand

Just Add on a story





I'll do five or so of my own.



.



Behind me the sun spins or the moon does. Or, the world looks like Hades, or Heaven, or 45th Street in the snow.

We've gathered here to watch a jade burn, or a soul loose, or a 14 year old mother breast feed her child on a bench.

There's blood on the floor but I don't know where it's from. It can't be mine. I'm Superman. I read Balzac in the winter, Chekhov in the Summer.

I know Mozart, not sonically, but personally. I'm Superman. I call Balzac 'Ball sack' and no one stops me.

I turned 'Three Sisters' into 'Four Sisters' because I fucked it. And no one stopped me.

I can't leap a building in a single bound, nor run faster than a speeding bullet, but I'm Superman just the same.



My cape is red except that when I stepped out onto 45th street, I didn't have a cape.

There's blood on the street, blood on my back. But it isn't mine. It can't be.

I'm like Clark Kent when he's angry. I'm Clark Kent in a child support case with Lois Lane. I see red.

I see red like Picasso in 1905. I see a red armchair with a 14 year old mother breast feeding her child.



Iced roses glint upon her mouth, glint upon the snow.
Iced roses glint upon her mouth, glint upon the snow.



I stepped in front of the bullet but this blood isn't mine.

Red periods are for those with brushes.

I can quote Shakespeare in my dreams, but I don't know shit 'bout paint.

Whether 'tis nobler... to suffer the slings and arrows...(AND I DREAM...)
or to take arms against a sea of troubles...(AND I DREAM)



I took arms. I'm Superman, so I took steel arms and stepped in front of a boyfriend pointing a pistol at a 14 year old girl on 45th Street.

I'm on the ground now watching her breast feed her newborn on a bench.


I'm on the ground.

But this blood isn't mine.

.......................................................................................




p.s.

i know i'm supposed to be retired. forgive my little relapse. a nigga been reading Balzac (Na, my nigga, not ball sack. Google.)

_____________________________________

The cry I bring down from the hills
__________belongs to a girl still burning
__________inside my head. At daybreak

____________________she burns like a piece of paper. - YK