Between the briefly noted derision
and the grin there was a certain lack
of cohesion that fascinated me,
that sublimated cold my attempt
to keep things at the yam level. Rap broke
free from the tyranny of syncopation.
The best lines were redacted. I used my face
as a swab, soaked up the ooze in the
interstices of ampersands. Every mind
was the spondee of my mind, the last I rode
for some time.