Dig where I give my Vertigo mind:
Here’s where I was born and here’s where I died:
A life on a line, time on a space,
defined by the case and enshrined to the ages.
The arc spins out to the edge where the bark ends.
Sap in the cracks is advanced through the target.
Tapped is a cross-cut trunk ticking years off of
Rings in the rough… Nine-teen eighty-one:
Young buck, I was given to the music that my family
tree dropped: lean vinyl leaves, lopped clean, caught
neatly in a simple white sleeve and received in a
triple-seamed piece of relief. I'm released.
Now I leaf through the timelines, ripe in the limelight,
lean through long limbs, hyped on the High Life,
primed for the prime time, charmed bonsai, been
making up for training the roots in a vinyl lining.
Dig what I’m into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends.
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove.
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates.
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall.
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y’all off.
Get the gist of my language.
My fangs tap sap sanguine, black amber splash, a draught dangerous.
My mark is upon Sycamore roots, last of the tribe like Fenimore Coop-,
Building a plan for the loops like grouping the Jupiter rings through a lens in a loupe.
Redwood routes go in to out. And when the LP spins it goes out to in.
So with the wax rewound, the sound bends the rounds and curves space to trace it where it all began.
See, the first track rides the longest black lap but the last runs half as long at just as fast,
‘til it yields to the pops and the cracks and the lock-groove grasps at the circuit at last.
Dig what I’m into. Get into the lens when my pen pushes limits to the ends.
Can do attitude spinning like black planets do, cutting wax with the groove.
Lend me your ears. These hemispheres take latitudes then flatten into plates.
Needle on the cue of the song: make it fall.
When you ask of the Magic Eight Ball, I break y’all off.
(B.R. makes ‘em get up on the wax like—
Big Rig makes ‘em get up on the wax like—
Bedroom makes ‘em up on the wax like—
Bankrupt makes ‘em get up on the wax like—)
