When those words are spoken, written, to be a man or not,
Buzz says the bee, to discover what is he?
When the vortex of brains come calling all to reveal plots,
On dripping lips with open mouths that are caves of echoes, opened with skeleton
keys,
The makeup of a man with gray and white matter speaking to him,
Seats of consciousness much more grandeur than the largest auditorium,
Fleshy pods of minds, bodies, and souls, that are glass snakes with broken *****
limbs,
Regeneration of anger, hate, sorrow, despair, and love trapped in the hearts
sunless atrium,
Driving on streets with war bonnets making exchanges with Julius Cesear in the
passenger seat,
Boxing wrongs reminding us that we are men, and men we are,
Love letters from Sappho, slapping vulnerability, and veneered with eroticized heat,
Ermine men with life lessons spitting out the memories of nightmares,
Graveyards of bones with worm infested skulls, and dreams at rest,
To be a man in life, to be a man in death, here, and there, he must live or die the
noblest.
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