The ‘Greatest’ Poet You’ve Never Heard Of Is A Rap Artist

*I use the term ‘greatest’ loosely and to denote they are brilliant at their art in my view. 🙂 You must use web view via Jetpack or WordPress mobile apps to listen to the Bandcamp embed.

Aesop Rock – Abandoned Malls

I was staring off into the water
Looking for some undiscovered colors
Like a blue that really wasn’t, but it wasn’t any others
The synesthetic cousin to the hum of his discomfort

I been a punching bag for some truly deluded garbage
Now his handshake is a unicorn, his hug a moving target
Dark days either sparing change for the square pegs
Or in his fave chair sipping on bear mace
Tripping through his daymare, marathoning monster flicks
Zombie in the stale air, logging his Hayashi pics

I been trying to teach your kid to ollie
She got the basic motion and glow when she show her mommy
I get they want the hows and whens of water cooler powder kegs
That shit that get your saintly favorites ousted from the power grid
I know I know some shit about some shit
I guess that gotcha gossip simply isn’t part of how I live

Skin cold to the touch
Eyes open, no pulse
Diagnosis in flux

Traffic in a mad world
Mad world, whereupon
Often times the body spits the spirit out and carries on
To engineer some semblance of a normal life
Yours and mine
Then, of course, it’s normalcy where paranormal’s normalized

Normal is a phantom force that levitates the forks and knives
Or otherworldly parasites that quarrel over portion size
Hit the floor and you could be the next unfriendly energy to organize
Ordering corpses into the chorus line

Best friends and death beds
Red cents, and headwinds vs one man who’s ten men
I bubble to the surface legendarily imperfect
Purging Slurpee from a head that turns incessantly in circles
It’s concerning, my psychic likes to focus on a orb
And tell me how she sees me coming home to goldfish on the floor, in perpetuity

I been sleeping in my armchair
Taking weird walks and speaking to folk who aren’t there

Skin cold to the touch
Eyes open, no pulse
Diagnosis in flux

The same alleys we used to imagine Babylon
Feel like abandoned malls overgrown with Spanish moss
Commotion frozen in time with no sign of your lamb of god
It’s a land of the lost, scrambling for canned applause

Damn it, rip the bandage off, rant or panic if you must
Any way you manage it, the plan was always pick the cuffs
Eventually, fixtures who were questionably prisoners, and ventured out
Now we’re never anything but visitors

Spent the winter sitting pretty on a sleigh to hell
Okay to look away if you need to forsake and save yourself
It’s underneath what’s underneath the dungeon
That layer of dysfunction, that ain’t for the weak of stomach
I freak an Archeology that reek of repercussion
If you need to pick some pieces up, come dig a hole to jump in
Light sleeper, I’m a fighter, I’m a feeder
Earth, wind, fire, water, aether

Skin cold to the touch
Eyes open, no pulse
Diagnosis in flux


Today is day 9 of Cory Miller’s ’30 Days of Clicking Publish’. It’s exactly as the name denotes: We’re going to click the publish button every day for 30 days.

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