Shouldn’t have picked,
the Apple from the tree,

Calligraphy delight.
Sublime crime embedded in grime
from a colder clime,
climb,
ladders of time,
failing to shatter coal-like gold mines,
bare hubbub of chatter –
bearing witness to the business,
eyes fixed to the slickness,
ten manz deep, automatic defeat.
But he comes.

Should have chosen
the strawberry,
instead of the cherry.

Who did this? Imma fix this
Come then! Move dem.
Head and necks,
he wants a piece, Who’s next?
Five plunges of revenge into political correctness,
bodies fall to the gutter in a scutter
blood runs crimson, so we scatter
and I shudder, in daylight cordoned,
carbon’d copies of souls cease to shine,
voiceless, noiseless, less then,
cornered, died in no – know time.