Saturday, June 4, 2016

Rap Harvest
by Peter Magliocco
You are the rap harvest,
you sing the body's impolitic
raven airs transmogrified
by desire (& beauty lost
& won again)
into heartening large
-- or little -- graces of life
around us.
Each day (each moment, each
second) rolls beyond our blinking
need to rule the 'hood.
I see you down here,
drinking wine, waiting.
Give me a dole of lecher's dance feat,
I'll do the rest thereafter,
mending your curtained skin
with tricking fingertips
while you snort homemade pharm.
Time & again you drop me
the ghetto's livid lingo to spiel
on the cusp of city tumult,
hearing a million rappers
keening into concrete avenues
our innocence hardens to sweeter stone.
Now it's all right, a no-brainer
if our lyrics ever die so will we.
Plucked as food for the gods,
our choice tongues still bearing
your hallowed curses
& chewed-up vowels eschewed
by our now spurting seed
we breed with murdered truth.
by Peter Magliocco
Nothing turns his face
from images of time,
always in a dark profile
silhouetting his long wait.
Nothing resets the clockwork orange
whose fruit cannot be opened.
Pity the memories flashing by
all his heinous crimes
in delusional extremis, yes:
remember the throat crevice
of a blood-drowned victim
in her unspeakable dismay.
Nothing dissolves the images
time paints over nature's visage:
only reflections of vanished life
dwindling beyond a cold cosmos
ghostly light years never reach.
Viral Tilt Brood
by Peter Magliocco
I want to look like aces,
not be an old dude anymore.
Look more hip, rap-savvy
for our private videos.
Be rich, rose-smelling
& spill flaxen-fresh syllables
over your grateful head,
whatever rocks the night by.
Yet here I am, stuck
between your implanted boobs
& the daily hustle grind
making ends meet.
So let me
backstab blue dysfunctional
eternal mind games
with Dr. Phil
for a possible penis transplant
while time deadens
your mercury-laden heart
into eternal retrograde.

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...