adam the rapper
when i write interlude

The callas on the inside knuckle of my middle finger sings like creaking floors when I write

Vapor trails waste in skies as we watch on our backs, still taked to the ground

I turn and I talk to the ground as I write

Models on paper bases

A city long flattened by the onslaught of now

The same people there, but the scale's not right

I make windows of tiny valves

Like God, make whatever comes to mind when I write

A man on the train to my right takes a double G&T at eleven twenty, and that's his right

I build him from straw when I write

I heard letters, horseback ride

And a suit on my hip as I write

Pluck feathers from pheasants asleep at roadsides

Dip tips in purple ink 'fore I write

Slow time, make my own ancient rite

Tell stories in between the spaces I write

Make space when I write

Explore space when I write

Take what I like from the space

And the state I create when I write

Pictures traced when I write

I wake when I write

I'm late when I'm right

When I'm right