Brooklyn (no where near finished)

Under the Brooklyn moonlight, I try to get my mind right for the dusting of visuals about to overcome me.

I throw on my baggiest jeans, air max 95s, grab my clippers to sharpen my edges now it’s time for me to hit the streets

It’s difficult to describe a day in Brooklyn, it’s just something you'll have to come to any neighborhood and allow yourself to see

No place I know is so beautifully violent with all my peoples hanging on street corners, playing cee-lo, rockin' sporting jerseys

And we set in our ways, we work hard through the night, exciting fights, low lights and then morning arises and we’re okay

But that’s when we sleep watching the sun seep and burn away like incents or a candle in the middle of the day.

And when the moon awakens, so do our minds and like scavengers, we hit the streets to find our next living prey

It’s not always food sometimes it’s just a fix that we need to sustain us as we spiral through time and exist our lives away

We’re ignoble and emblematic of a state of mind that is tough and trendy like Scarface or any other sweet and turbulent snafu

So we chastise our own selves because we can’t believe that our lives are long, yet list of accomplishments short like some deranged haiku

And our children? They’re spearheading the way with a patience unknown as they search for their own comeuppance

Unpalatable static, enigmatic and we try and understand the “Stubborn” in them with their suggestive attire, wish they’d give that up for Lent

Can't tell a young cat that 87 degrees is a reason to not rock a hoodie in the dead middle of summer

Can’t tell him it’s too warm to wear Timbs on his feet, especially when he knows that mid-lows come in springtime colors

We would spend a “hunned” dollars a weekend for disposable cars if we could just to say that for a small spell, we own ‘em

Ain't tryna clown my people, that's just our mentality in the hood and we know it so with each generation we begin to clone ‘em

I reach into my pocket to see what I possess, four dollars cash just enough to get exactly what I need

Walk to the bodega window, “yes sir, let me get a turkey/cheese hero, some Doritos, a Pepsi, a sour apple blow pop and 1 loosie

With a nod, he makes and collects what I ask for, carrying on a conversation in Spanish with his compadre at the Plexiglas windowed store

We exchange goods and services for money, tuck the loosie behind my ear, steppin’ fast, making sure not to let the good Lord split me with the door

This probably could go on forever and will one day, so I’ll stop here