ignition.

spit hot fire!
exclusively as productive verbal vendettas
against weak-words and waterbabies.
i have no actual interest in being one of those other other fire-breathers,
y'know,
the hippies with the flaming marshmallow sticks,
and the vaseline-lined lips,
and the acres of epic chunky vibes and lameness.
but,
when it comes to liquid lava lingo,
and fluid flowing magma metaphor,
i'm all about it.
so hard.
it's not that simple or easy though,
i'm sayin', it never is;
because when you got it goin' on like a dragon,
it usually just means you've got those bad breath bits,
all up on your tongue-piece an' all...
and while wordcraft and storytelling are important to me,
i still stock up on chewing gum,
because a doublestuffed face furnace fountain
is a happy one.
a dragon without 'the dragon'.
you get it.
your ears and your nose will thank me, too.
minty-scented hot fire breath, ya'll.
that's customer service at it's finest.
the hard(er) part, my ninjas,
is slowing down the steady-rocking stream of sounds and symbols in my head,
so that it seems solid and sinuously super-sonic simultaneously,
but not as self-serving and sh!t-smarmy as it does at full-force in real-time.
i mean,
it seems i'm way more enjoyable when i slow it down,
or better yet put it down in print for leisurely perusal;
NOT because of any lofty incomprehensible concepts,
but rather because of the pace and volume
of loud, hard, level-eleven Folk Life living.
too much is normally the exact right amount.
unless you're a b!tch-sap oozing diaperpants baby
believe you me when i spill these beans, ya'll.
spitting this particular hard hot fire,
out into the expanses of experience we call really-real reality,
is waaaaay more than those other 'nother folks,
can really tolerate in any quantity larger than none at all.....
their loss is our gain, though, right?
warrior poetry.
that's what real-life is all about.
combustion.
enunciation.
conflagration.
composition.
diction and domination.
spitting hot fire.
wherever.
whenever.
threatening thesaurical terrorism,
one syllable sniper shot at a time.
my tongue is a strike-anywhere match.
never quiet, never soft.....