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LOANLIFE

by LOAN

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Mikus
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Mikus Diggin the intense word poetry and the rawness of art! Favorite track: Empty Spaces.
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1.
Checkout 02:21
The curtains remind alcoholics of church Alcoholics remind the room that there is no revolution outside The parking lot coughs travelers up through the late morning With bad land water on their face By noon this thought finally finishes Like upright last words Four months of a slowing solo You know it’s over When a gangster admits that he doesn’t know History is funny when visualized at noon Two noons to a flight to a trench A dust cloud of human form Mostly arms Flesh and smoke Bored and nowhere And nice time And nickel genocide Peaceful oddities Like the two years before Europe lands Or earth tone weapon handles Pages in a projectile’s life Run the air Over arms And nice times And every bucket genius I know Conversations in stone colors See monuments to circus Clown debates Clowns who kill for nickel And nowhere And nice time See fights on busses and planes Worn down routes Worn thin passengers Police who have never done one good thing in their tenure Not one good thing in their tenure Yes Police are teachers who fifth graders remember More than spelling See human rights in stone colors Under a noon angle And nice time And noon And nowhere Two from flight All funny to me Lead teeth to copper glory 1980s sky over life that is plenty and cheap blood bubble get money miss the road already wretched 40 years outdoors battling landmarks and flag rope the poor man’s conscience eats scraps and ambulance IVs free ketchup for the people pennies on a hotel table remind me of 1980s martyrs when I’m a few hours from gone
2.
Empty Spaces 01:48
i been thinkin about this picture i want to draw it's going to have vacant hands, still feared it's gonna have pain with empty spaces tools that choose us it's gonna have catchy violence someone will be poor and alone african born there will be the way the gathering the gun handle the palm where the gun feels protected, then speaks empty space an un-played build more hands purple grey scent that can be seen me in no more implied piano it tilts top right corner there's gonna be a red figure yellowing space an ancient woman presented in four faces street sign maybe street light maybe an ancient man presented in shoulders it's gonna have the woman i love lower left corner, a blue horn yellowing space no moon a gangster maybe eyes that are earlier than comprehension to these eyes love is sacred, but only a baby to these eyes all of the rest drifts brown with veins black with fingers empty space eyes presented in generations
3.
New York because I said so A day of minutes Seconds like leaves Like leaves are disloyal city characters In brittle congregations Near shelter dirt and department store cigarette breaks Stale Irish brew peels the white Away from mid morning eyes Already three lies awake To make matters worse Our hearts are broken Next morning our story starts more specific Hearts don’t matter here Tiled grogginess Tiling grogginess Slow flying gutter puddle Accompanies a man’s cage walk Defines his punch line altitude This building works hard This building works the same job for three generations This building works as long as epochs Produce money and minstrels One third of this building does not know that it is a third It woke up groggy We want to get high Imagine meaningless water Imagine orphans making a pact to never have kids Imagine going to work This is our first sip Who knew that concrete would play such a big part in ecological facts And that mid morning eyes would leak surprise and hate laughter Overcrowded The emotion of conspiracy And toy property rights There are only two kinds of people in this world One kind owes you money Category rooftops Capitalism stands flamboyant in lines that wrap around waterfronts People pass through Cadillac swimmer and children who walk on water That building means margin Half block toy shelf Gladiator industry The nothing business The nobody There’s a figure in the window Why does it always look nervous? The 5 train has pillowcases through out its Franklin Ave Station Subway station police remind me of pillowcases Soundless playground This 3am train Childish economics In full self portrait enthusiasm In vulnerable slumps We race whistling tracks To some cousin of health This is your city Your underground This anonymously high floor Became a friend that doesn’t know me A writer’s mountain Where lineage collapses its span Into your girlfriend’s cigarette Also where strangers Lend me temper And proletariat lunch Arms between bricks and midtown fantasy A manic border Sort of back then Enemies Will not See each other Later In America’s heaven New york Because I said so
4.
Biko and I are driving in an empty cell lane We are God’s evil to these settlers They might throw us under the shift change We take wolf naps We don’t know what else we good at Besides this traveling Stateliness in a night tide Passing through beach head America Passing with hurricane memory Three thousand exits of sludge bathed apartheid Everything south of Canada Is extrajudicial gun oil And your local unemployment factory In a few hours we will fit in relax for now Hop out the car And I am a dirty shoe illusion Leaning on the trunk with the ghosts of switch blades And other rusty services I am enemy humor And traveling ashes on the back seat Behind his two sons In a lane not for metaphor Well maybe a metaphor for something unfinished One million hands passing us through the Midwest Last wishes By way of fish tail Daydreams By way of collisions Home in the bad lands of translation Relaxed passing Great grandparent’s finger bones Father’s ashes No longer arms Just tattoos Bad land imagination Barreling Translating a father’s last trip home We don’t know what else we good at besides this traveling Exits in collage Exits in pieces Pieces of 1970s kitchen plates In a good luck refrigerator We still aint ate Feeling the narcotic swing Of how we see yesterday Hop out the car Against desperate white supremacy Gas station greetings Stray dogs And other earth-born alarms We are stray deadly Against desperate white supremacy And other senses That die silly And have murdered Ashes traveling Two coins Or the toll is us In a few hours we will fit in character interstate On a journey of a million parallels Barreling like gut born love songs Your ancestors laughing as we pass the time When we ride It’s language Past Gary 3000 Caster iron lining Proud forearms for vulture’s meal More gut born love songs Sam Greenly please say more We don’t know what else we good at Besides this traveling Three man ghost story Fishers of ourselves Cards dealt Narrative implied Something unfinished Like an Indiana hurricane Or two midnights in Milwaukee Or no arms No tattoos No Chicago Ever again We don’t know what else we good at besides this traveling And besides Heaven is all good byes anyway
5.
This night feels the same to Tall Baby as he watches winos that are dressed as rattle snakes all in a cocky holocaust that is too young to dress down around here citizens eat the chaser and prove tha they got revenge by their store counter rapport there are new loads of baby teeth shipped daily the working class is in heaven over but ignoring miles and miles of their work this every kind of yard knows this night feels the same rattle snakes near spit and wine Tall Baby fishes for lighter and sees no leaders sees a mother the first sabbath after losing her son walk and weeze everywhere is blades with soundless imagination streets die then smile Tall Baby nods once thinks of heaven a look to the left will have to do because you never look up when you're near spit and wine and the rich man's eager Tall Baby thinks same shit different decorations Tall Baby shoots back the skyline has gone sideways roof tops have become gun barrels there will never be cover again millions surrender Tall Baby's walls only talk about hinges in times of Holocaust on free trade sabbath skyline returns to its feet on a free trade sabbath skyline marches puts boot to fracture babies in heaven the real heaven over red and shanty ignoring nothing this every kind of yard knows on a free trade sabbath skyline returns to first world somewhere in a shipping company state Tall Baby talks to gates he's had no face for months as self taught city says only whites are welcomed that city is a proud bastard still when Tall Baby Returns
6.
Hollywood 02:03
california fiction as experienced the first 20 minutes away a damned steel garden of tombs and countdowns hollywood as experienced the first twenty minutes away let's go outside and test our looks against the locals fight the urge to dropkick their anorexic lapdogs, literally all i remember from the last time was a pool table, a righteous record, and a prostitute who almost took me to the movie oh, and a velvet rope made into uzi rounds bring anything to a LA fight

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released October 8, 2013

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LOAN San Francisco, California

Founded in 2012, SF Bay Area duo LOAN pairs the revolutionary poetry of Tongo Eisen-Martin with music by multi- instrumentalist Chris Peck the Town Crier. "Blue Phase" is LOAN's second release, and their first full-length album. It features guest appearances by Biko Eisen-Martin, Miriam Speyer and Eli Carlton-Pearson. ... more

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