Doom Done Slang

Already woke, spare the joke, barely spoke, rarely smoke
Stared at folks when properly provoked, mirror broke
Here, share strawberry morinin, 
Gone and more important spawnin'
Torn in, poor men sworn in
Cornish hens switchin positions, auditionin' mortitions
Saw it in a vision, ignorin prison
Ignoramuses enlist and sound dumb
Found em drowned in cows dung, crowns flung
Rings a tinkerbell, sing for things that's frail as a fingernail
Bring a scale, stale ginger lingers
Seven figures invigor
Nigga, fresh from out the jail, alpha male
Sickest ninja injury this century, enter plea
Lend sympathy to limper simple simon rhymin emcees
Trees is free, please leave a key
These meager fleas, he's the breeze
And she's the bees knees for sheez
G's of Gs seize property, shopping sprees
chop the cheese drop degrees to stop diseases gee wiz pa!
DOOM rock grammer like the Kumbaya
Mama was a ho hoppa, papa was a rollingstone
Star like Obama, pull a card like oh drama!
Civil liberties
These little titties abilities riddle me, middle C
Give a MC a rectal hysterectomy
lecture on removal of the bowels, foul technically
Don't expect to see the recipe
Until we receive the check as well as the collection fee
More wreck than section Z
What you expect to get for free?
Shit from me, history
The key, plucked it off mayor
Chucked it in the ol tar pit off La Brea, playa
They say he's gone too far
DOOM'll catch em after Jumar on cue lacka!!
Do what'cha gotta do, grarrrr the rumors are not true, gotchu ma
No prob, got the job, hot barred heart throb
Scotch Guard the bar the with cotton swabs, dart lob
Bake a cake, sweet
Jamaica trade in treats on the beach make her skeet til her feets meet

Rap: "That's That" by Doom, from his album, "Born Like This" 2009 

On Pelicans, and Life in General

"His [Charles] statement to himself should have been, 'I possess this now, therefore I am happy,' instead of what it so Victorianly was: 'I cannot possess this forever, and therefore am sad.'"
-John Fowles, from "The French Lieutenant's Woman"

Drunk with pines and long kisses,
like summer I steer the fast sail of the roses,
bent towards the death of the thin day,
stuck into my solid marine madness.

Pale and lashed to my ravenous water,
I cruise in the sour smell of the naked climate,
still dressed in gray and bitter sounds
and a sad crest of abandoned spray.

Hardened by passions, I go mounted on my one wave,
lunar, solar, burning and cold, all at once,
becalmed in the throat of the fortunate isles
that are white and sweet as cool hips.

In the moist night my garment of kisses trembles
charged to insanity with electric currents,
heroically divided into dreams
and intoxicating roses practicing on me.

Upstream, in the midst of the outer waves,
your parallel body yields to my arms
like a fish infinitely fastened to my soul,
quick and slow, in the energy under the sky.

Poem: Pablo Neruda "IX" from his collection, "Twenty Love Poems" 
Photograph: Tony Rohrbach