Quarantined Before Coffee

Slow.
Steady.
I type on the keys.
Quarantined.

Quarantined After Coffee

Stuck in doors,
kicking it in my drawers,
thinking feet on the floor,
listening to Pete Rock, should I say more?
When I listen to this,
I get raucous,
my mind thinks quick,
and I hit the skids.
I get obnoxious,
never pretentious
throw the words around like
a 2020 census.
What’s the consensus?
You know what this is,
rhyming lunatic
on a caffeine buzz.
A little of this, and a little bit of love
in a mug,
and I kick it to the beat
of the keys and the drum.
First few sips, coffee drips
down, stains the page.
Look at me now,
clown with a unibrow
getting down to the sound,
listening to Pete Rock
9:40 AM in the morning now.
I woke up late for work,
Went downstairs, hell of a commute.
I put the coffee in the cup.
It does not compute.
The keys on the keyboard,
like spaces on a chess board,
I wonder if someone like Stevie feels like this
’cause he plays the keys so effortless…
I type on my computer to the sound of the beat
It swells me, encompasses me, 360 degrees.
I can’t edit this, just writing practice.
A Writers Block collective, interrupted.

Fill the cup up, Let’s get productive.

Time for a refill.
Cup number two.
Got to get this to Chad still.
Three $ bills fill up the landfill.

Put on my Ear goggles and I am ready to go.
This one is called the Coffee Rodeo.
I get a cup of caffeinated,
I get like I just made it, mental masturbation,
keeping it to the flow, of the radio,
listening to Pete Rock,
typing on the keys,
stop while I am ahead?
Doubt it,
shout about it.
I am distracted and my flow is still
on point,
I digress, I don’t have to puff out my chest.
I keep it A Tribe Called Quest and Evidence.
I keep it together, through all this cold weather.
Get it together with the Ill Communication.
Keeping locked up
nn my space station,
breaking to the rhythm.
The radio is waiting,
got a beat in my head, and I get it going.
Doctor stay patient,
I keep on walking down the freeway
like 2003,
when nobody knew me,
manic boy running free, on 128,
would have went to 93
if State didn’t stop me.
So, I walked my way to a hospital.
Bush was in office it was terrible.
I took a two month stay in Mclean
while they rewired my brain.
Prescription poet with a little bit of pain.
I kept on, and on.
Moved back home, made bad friends who came best.
Met Lisa, she became my best.
Moved to the big city, got my degree.
And in 2010 started Oddball Magazine.
Back in 95, it came alive, and in 2010, took shape.
Incubated in a mental basement,
finally moved up like Jefferson.
This is the way it should be.
You got a dream then let it be
like Lennon and McCartney.
You might get it your way like Burger King
Might get it together like MCA.
Might keep it moving like A Tribe Called Quest.
Might Make something out of nothing.
Might make a dirty dozen.
Might make something.
Might make a Mighty Mighty Bosstone
Out of the man with the microphone.
And Obi is barking at me.
I say leave it alone, this poem.
I think I got my point across.
But I don’t think I can’t stop.
Rhythm Zoloft got me soft,
And smooth like CL, Funky like Del
busting lyrical shells, keeping all 5 senses
Can you smell what Pete Rock is cooking?
Mixed with coffee and Karma got a
mad man booking, got my style shaking and baking,
Like earthquakes on the regular
Keeping going, never stop.
’cause we can’t stop.
Puff Daddy Turned P Diddy,
Now let the beat drop.

Coffee cup got my heart fluttering.
Took a minute, and I am back at it.
My wife made me breakfast.
Probably should stop a minute
and fuel up.
Bye for now, but I can’t let go of this
rhyming stuff.

Now I am going to get my day started.

Going to
listen to
Paul’s Boutique.

 

Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. His new book is Train of Thought.