I'm staring at this Gucci belt. Views from an AirBnB in downtown Florence. Still in the box it's unworn, fire like a phoenix unborn, at me it stares too. When I wrap it around my waist and wear it, it wears me too. Wear and tear on its leather is only as nice as the tuscan weather, I've ripped all this paper on this waste: it tears me too. I'm staring at this Gucci Belt. Views from an AirBnB in downtown Florence. My swagger oozes like an uzi when it squeezes my waist like a trigger, it kills me, I've been dying to put it on. Gangster as 2 G's my pompous confidence is like Capone with a cap and gown, or Van Jones with a gat and rounds, out here it's pure expression like music to my ears, but back home it just shows that my stacks are sound. I'm staring at this Gucci Belt Views from an AirBnB in downtown Florence. On waves we make it rain to wash the pain Showing up wet with the fit, So much drip we don't notice the leaks in our pockets We been known to sink shots or stick slick flows from our stream of conscious but how do we stay afloat or stop drowning when a light hand controls the faucets: a white man who controls the profits. I'm staring at this damn Gucci Belt. But it don't look right to a cop when I cop it. Views from an AirBnB in downtown Florence. Florentine oil strokes drape the walls with sophistication beyond my appreciation. The floor, it seems, is soaked with garments: blouses on couches, pullovers on pullouts, different threads on the beds cuddle in their madness like the makeup splattered around the pad is needed to turn average to baddest. Look at the mess we've made. The leather market outside the wooden windows continues bustle. I'm staring at this Goddamn Gucci belt. Views from a stare, G&G. Glamour and greatness turned to greed and guilt. The man sitting on the front stoop with skin blacker than the leather he came here to sell, and feet ashier than phoenix feathers rebuilding their cells, sings a tune from his motherland through the filters of an Italian cigarette. In his other hand is a bracelet identical to the one he had given me upon entering the building just minutes before. Smiling like we had come from the same mother he called me his brother and put the little band in my hand. I hear him through the wooden windows. His voice is as rugged as his clothes are. I wonder where he puts all of his unauthentic leather goods on a rainy day, or if it's any less waterproof than the designer in front of me. He continues to belt; my heart buckles. I pray for sunshine over the Arno today. Views from a Florence AirBnB.

I'm easy like... The streaming light that settles through the shadows of last week and the gallows of the next The last peek at the last peak comes through the shutters, i shudder when we last speak she shallows in her breath My past sweet, like whole wheat pancakes and real maple syrup flippin on the stove i waited the whole week my hand shakes, I'm little and I'm home. a sparrow in his nest Turning over my last sheet, i finally make it out of bed. The last leaves reflect in the light, as if to reflect on their life, only to realize that they died golden. They make way for a good winter and a hollow scene to follow me. A pharaoh at his desk Hollow screens and empty lines pass time like hobbling hobbies, he cries rivers down his vast cheeks, wider than his smile. Breathing like breaking up, He's heaving like he's seen end of the 4th quarter with no dollar, his papers knew his pain. Prompts stared longingly knowing his words were at a loss like his father watching the skins game. arrows to the flesh The task creeps that golden glow into a sun that sets so low he forgot to eat. Twenty one years of home-made love, sweat and tears at 5 o clock, with family all around him, aromas roaming and banter cantering around the room until voices were hoarse. These memories keep him full and all of her worries of course narrow in her death I continue to study She looks down with love, always watching, knowing that the last of the weekend and the first of the week is her Grandson Day. she's hallowed in my chest Turning over my last sheet, I finally make it into bed. My eyes close, fallow in my rest. .....Sunday Mourning

can’t remember the last time that I woke up with some urgency Aint no frame on my bed, i was livin like my pictures hella pain on my head sleepin just to pass the boredom that came with the dread i was livin like a pitcher, poor when would i tilt it and them lights they would flicker thank the lord i was fed the crib was so empty guess you are where you live carpet was so soft, layin on it to reflect beats bumpin like the neighbors up above in the middle of the moonrise my tunes like seeds in a garden full of weeds, petals doomed to be shed been the same since i left the garden couldnt grow, so that rain is a bless battle demons on my own too ashamed for the meds darkest thought on my dome and she came from the head i was heartless mind fixated on departin brewin suicide like the fruits of my harvest were food for my darkness the pills are hard to swallow when it’s led up in your faucet i been stuck in limbo bar so low, i was duckin all my kinfolk 808s & death streetlights glowin through my window i been too depressed had a treasure but i lost it the weight up in my chest think it’s buried in the garden

Wondering Eyes open The threat of a little buzz that lets You know they are still on the other line The same wavelength in time now fades As does the little square box where bubbles of letters fetter together To form friendships or break hearts To stay a part of each other's apart- Meant to live in Repent to give in Sentiment was given Sights closed The darkness of the moonshine Seeping through my room blinds Help me see I don't know What clock it is The promises You told me Hypothesis With no sheet Im wandering With cold feet Like rocket ships With no speed In this space Mind dozing Niggas still beaten where street police seekin The melanin to mail em in Behind bars My negus still geekin In the group chat we are free and we've weaved in our ties and strings into writing, A place where we can be supported It cannot be distorted, our friendship shines through Behind bars You remember them right? Good night i'm tapped You remember them right? Eyes open Sights closed Mind dozing Drives drove Lights shone Kites flown Hopes hoping Highs lowed Wondering wandering this wonderful quandary i can't help but wonder.... U up?

The crevice creeps It stretches deep Darkness lines the edges Staring down into the fear Stresses gaining wisdom from the shear height. To know ledges Is knowledges, And at which degree to call ledges When the echo rings right back. Minor setbacks turn to major failures The colleges Learn to burn passions out like candlewicks Dismantled mantles leave the fireplace Of the heart flashing out of light Because he couldn't handle it. Re: stacks of tears keep the pillows wet Teetering with feet off the edge And brains doing pirouettes He scoots towards the ledge, Heart turned to silhouette, First go his legs. Eyes closed he falls freely Liberated by the darkness and grounded by this infinite moment of weightlessness He reaches out to the walls of the cliff... The crevice swallows him instead. . Awakened by the starkness Of the floor carpeted by semi-clean laundry, his weight returns to his body: He has just fallen out of bed. The guitar still strumming on his phone, it's half past too late. He crawls back onto the twin mattress that he doesn't fit if he lays out straight, and dozes off once again. The chasm in his chest.

Every rose loves yesterday’s rain I’ve seen so many damn gardens on a beautiful day And it’s not like I can’t describe it to you with perfect detail But i’m a sorcerer of imagery who’s reached the end of his spell book trying to look forward like he’s conjuring emails I been attaching meaning to these letters like files, eating off these servers for miles, you needa take megabytes to arrive to this space To get my pictures you need a J PEGged to your face, i’m talking on a higher plane Hiding in plain sight, i might hire planes and throw a show on a jet just to show how the flows go over your head. One day you’ll know how much I gross when my net flicks on my wrist, they gon try to make a documentary when there ain’t no documenting me Everybody’s looking for a story. I could stop time on a dime and own it earlier Like father stretched his hands and I stretched the moment earlier I ran out of rhymes like run-ons bleeding out of a book I ran out of lines like when this track meets the soul, black feet climb out the hole because we been in hell shook And i been wishing well, but well look, the well looks like it aint been well. . . They been filling it with flint water. So even when it rises, and finds the clouds, we got Lucifer in the sky of diamonds poisoning our towns That acid precipitation. I could take 100 mics and leave em melting in acid, when i put em to my tongue it's a trip when i spit, lotta smoke dissemination, LSD when i tab it, u better open up a window when i link with my clique... Every rose loves yesterday’s rain like yxsterday’s pain poured into the grain of soil spoiled by loneliness, desolate descriptions, dark depictions of self like shadows of 10 year old trophies sitting on a shelf. But from it grew those roses that stand before you today. They say that when one door opens another closes, or whichever way I’m losing focus because I done been through so many of those doors like they were portals to mortality. I can’t keep track of which one’s cracked, which one’s open wide, which one slides and which one’s slammed shut. You never see the garden on the days that the rain drops are falling and the dirt is turning to damn mud. You never see a flower while it’s growing. That’s like seeing all the doors at once, every opening, opportunity knocking or dropping simultaneously forming a symphony I swim sinfully, knowing I had a big heart earlier I sin instantly, knowing I’m not as good I was earlier Every Room Leaves You Reflecting Some poems are better off unwritten, but no places erased. I could distort dimensions all I want with words, and see all the confines in which I have cried, but would that mean I would have chosen wisely? Every Room Leaves You Reflecting Like a hall of mirrors, it’s clearer now that the belt is well worn, my grandmother’s gone, i’m safe in my home, having wandered alone with a canyon in my chest with enough space to digest. Every Room Leaves You Reflecting and that’s the only way I made it, ERLYR.