i is a young man looking out the window,
wondering why his wrists don’t yet have spider-line scars tracking his progress,
for all the,
for all the words unsaid,
as snow-capped mountains swell from the horizon,
as hip-deep snow swallows him in the white,
and he stops, for a moment,
before deciding to come up.
I is a man, with a home, and a hope,
and he ain’t about to give those up.
and the length from the i to the I ain’t a constant,
for all the reverbs ‘n chorused repeats.
and wait, wait for the build,
this is the first brick of foundation,
that variable distance from i to I,
from the less to the more than enough.
and repeat, repeat, ’til this diction drinks deep.
The chants give enourmous sense of being.
The prince asks,
and the audience screams “Be!”,
ain’t a death in the family worth a death in the family,
and don’t,
don’t trust the i.
repeat after me, kid,
repeat,
ain’t a thing you want more than what you got,
ain’t nothin’ worth that last trick-shot.
Repeat.
I am.
I will.
I can.
I can.
