
The Real Has No Eascape
reality is slippery
sand in my hands
eluding
The real recedes every morning
until
I’m not sure what I live in
reality is slippery
sand in my hands
eluding
The real recedes every morning
until
I’m not sure what I live in
Most people think they know the answer. I am willing to admit I don’t even know the question.
–Arsenio Hall
If you’ve never heard philly native Black Ice speak, then educate yourself right now.
i do not fear death
so long as i live my life
i won’t go to sleep
feeling empty
if i do this one thing right
Sometimes inspiration for a poem can come from the strangest places.