lutes. – samsa

I don’t spit fire
I compress and I spit carbon atoms
Not the fallen prophet
I’m the pilfer-fruit-from-gardens Adam
When I was born my mom and dad got silver lutes and harps thrown at ’em
From the hands of Zeus, it’s hard to fathom, I write all my bars in Latin
I see Mars and Saturn in the arches of my metacarpals
Papa told me Mama taught the moon to glow and stars to sparkle
And artistry herself was startled when she carved me out of marble
I don’t put a price on life, I sharpie markered on the bar code

I had a dream where I came face to face with Aphrodite
In a closet full of sneakers, half adidas, half were nike
Wrap my psyche up in styrofoam, my words in struggle raps
And double-back them in a couple flaps of verbal bubble wrap
My culture taught me I should be afraid of strangers
And be afraid of changes, and be afraid of danger
And I don’t want a cup of coffee in the comfort of my cubicle
That’s why I make decisions where I always choose the stupid one
I must admit it’s super fun, and I know where my future’s going
I mapped the whole thing out at 10 and just now called an uber for it

And finally it’s moving