When I’m locked in, you don’t need to fetch the bolt cutters to get me out,
Road running across scenes from the coyotes but I never took the petty route,
Net worth stuck in between the rim and backboard, I still ain’t gotta get carried down,
To get bounced to and announce swoosh inside of an empty mouth,
Never been pronounced wounded, but who did my accent horribly ain’t got to pass down their
hefty doubts
No, Thank You…Yes
Fingers stretched, bones cracked, limbs spread across the floor,
Baby feet on the chest, I ain’t gotta walk them to the door,
Anymore, every flaw, been ashore, laughed at all, pettifog, on the board, to spread to me like
signaling a gang sign,
On the streets, I still hang time, like the lurid smell of petrichor,
Slowly I’ve been taking baby steps to the morgue like every one of you,
I don’t need to discover treasure chests to feel comfortable,
When it comes to success, I chow down in minor increments to stay functional,
That’s the baby formula I’ve been on, don’t need the lunchables
No, Thank You…Yes
When I need the space, cadet,
You can still bet you can reach me through any transmission,
As my father swollen behind my eyes, but my mother’s soul is what I am missing,
Don’t let that fact distract you from any lingering admonitions,
To ride tantivy is zephyr compared to your slicker ambitions,
My hands philippic to anybody who say they the best due to them being from a grand city,
In a flinty exam plenty of questions are gonna be unanswered like an old man knitting,
His life from all that was parch,
You can be the only daylight in March,
Sometimes it snows in April, but you May not be the prince to play the part,
Better yet princess, who knows, in depth like incense going up the nostrils,
If I become underground, don’t burn the fossils,
Stick to the marshmallows like graham crackers that are about to get nibbled and swallowed,
I’m quite shallow when questioning the statistics of “Am I Real?”
Got a test to kill every day, it’s life, so I’m causally gonna get downgraded by human versions of
espadrilles,
Still a long way to saying you got to pay the bills,
The bases ain’t loaded, we still got time to steal,
Toss the ball over to you so you can have a sense of your home field,
We on death row everyday as we make our own meals,
And when death row across the river in the west, you ain’t got to shiver, all you gotta say is…
No, Thank You…Yes
Written on 5/28/25 for the future babies, whether it’s mine or yours, fellow reader.