Forbidden Windfruit



Forbidden Windfruit

Late at night, not wondering from whence the wind comes
I sit in a room amongst disarray
The television is on mute while Jill Scott serenades me
And a yet to be created
Verse
Of
Perpetuity…
With a drug enhanced or derascinated
Mind state
I write by way of my subconscious as my head sways
Partly to the rhythm of the JVC
Partly to the rhythm of my woosiness
I smoke not the witchcraft but have in the past
Presently the psychological addiction requires me
To partake in the wind yet again
To inspire a calm necessary
To write from the subconscious
The only problem is
It is the subconscious of
The serpent en media res
In the Garden.
So instead I pick up a black
And smoke it reminiscent of the Klan
As my lungs sigh with hopes of one day dying
See, it is in accord with the
Sentiments of the rest of my body…
Every aspect of my body now wants to see it’s final turn
Finality.
For I suffer from many cancers
Many addictions
Regal Nubian Sistas
And the perpetual search thereof
Search for the optical
Sentimental illusion of Love
Faith in my Brothers
Microphones, real or imagined
Hip Hop
And depression…
I am
Addicted to depression…
For I am not satisfied with the world
And realize I will forever struggle
Because I never will be.
It is the sentence handed down by the highest court
For my ancestors
Eating from the tree in the center
Of the Garden.
Damn,
I
hate
snakes.
And the
Forbidden WindFruit