Napping Under the Echo Tree - Milo, Kenny Segal

When I was boxing with Vallejo in Albany Park

It’s already dark, and I’m scared of that

Or was it with Hank Dumas in Oakland

By the lake where I openly argued with my fates

Coin purse bulging, loin cloth bulging

How is it these words are my ointment still?

Measuring years by tooth decay

And ruthless stratagems played

In the game of knights

I would describe myself as the Yoshimitsu of Boyle Heights

Most boastful over bowls of rice

Like I’m Caesar with the soul of…

It’s just a feeling, really

That being who has her being and pointing at what is

Admittedly I stare at her finger’s soul

Herein defined is that in which spirit has its being

Soul power, soul power, soul power

This is the green horse for rap

I’m putting my money on the green horse for rap

Listen, the beginning is the illusion

It is the iron veil concealing the origin

But here I am with a key

This is protected

Steadfast, intimate concentration

I’ve been gathering

Gathering more and more of the lesson-less

In the wastelands, gathering, waning

In my being, gathering everything’s constant intention

That how-did-he-say «gathered, all gathering thinking that recalls»

That devotional organ, my memory, I remember

The riddle written on my rib cage

The eternal recurrence of the same

The being of all becoming

The hammer and the heaviest thought banged into absurdity

I wasted my life microwaving jalapeno poppers

A love song for whom socks represent eudaimonia