Underground once and for all.
He was sure I was the one.
“The Poetess” haha he gave me
a hip hop name that fit the bill
perfectly for his vision.
It’s weird being the only one in a room with an LA mind. ?People talk, I always think they’re joking. I gotta get outta that habit, ?stop smiling, waiting for some punch line. When you leave LA no one out there’s got a punch line.
??poetry poetry poetry beats
Whatever, I love to travel…??This producer could grind out beats, a serious talent with a vision. I’d been through that a few times before. Playback: “bailar y ritmo ?bailar y ritmo ” That was the vocal in the back ground, and I was supposed to write the verses.
poetry poetry poetry beats
poetry beats beats beats
bailar y ritmo? bailar y ritmo
but afterward, chuggin’ rum in
Martin Luther King Park
drunk and making out.
I heard King’s voice,
speaking to me, right when I
noticed how beautifully blue? my
producer’s eyes were.
I was seeing double…
?Martin Luther King’s voice was ringing clear, asking of me, “…a poet has a message.” he reminded me, a bottom line” said King, and I agreed. I said, “Yes Doctor King, a punch line, this is true, there is no message for the dancers.”
…eyes that kind of blue
were too innocent to
ever know ?the poet
belong in the subversive,
will always be Underground?,
they’ll never enter pop –
there is no message for the dancers.??
I started with a whisper as I rose up in Martin Luther King Park,? out of my mouth came the voice of that slain leader… I whispered, “I want you to think with me this morning from the subject? , Rediscovering Lost Values??…
R e d i s c o v e r i n g L o s t V a l u e s . ”
I got up, and he watched me
swing my hips back and forth,
some extra Betty Boop,
singing loud and drunk,
BAILAR Y RRRRRiTMO!! YAYAYA!
I AM LEAVING ON A? JETPLANE!!! BYE!!
He was wasted, his blues eyes glassy,
“Where YOU GOING?”
I was still swinging my hips
“BAILAR Y RITMO BAILAR!
I’m going back to LA babe!
There is no message for dancers!
they do not hunger for the Word!“
He’s still talking even though
I was near the street,
a cab pulled to the curb,
“??DO YOU Always Have to HAVE A MESSAGE?” he yells.
“YES, I AM A POET, Silly!” I yell back.
I threw my head back and laughed with Doctor , who nods again with a smile of approval. Martin Luther King Jr. politely opens the cab door, and waits as I get in. Shutting it, he reaches through the window and swipes the tip of my nose lightly, and then he pushes the lock down. I stick my half torso out the window to blow Blue Eyes a kiss, as Martin instructs the driver.
“But Right NOW, AT THIS Moment,
I Need A PUNCH LINE baby!
AND Someone’S Got ONE IN L.A.,
I’M GOING To find THE PUNCH LINE IN ALL OF THIS!
Big kiss baby …bye bye y ritmo! bye bye!”
I heard Blue Eyes wish me luck as the cab pulled away. Through the back window, Martin Luther King Jr. stood in the street with his hands folded together and again, he nodded his approval. I smiled back at him in gratitude for his message to me.