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Mikus Diggin the intense word poetry and the rawness of art! Favorite track: Empty Spaces.
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released October 8, 2013



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Track Name: Checkout
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


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
Track Name: Empty Spaces
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


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
Track Name: 16th flr. Guinness
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


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


Will not

See each other



America’s heaven

New york

Because I said so
Track Name: Heaven is all Goodbyes
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


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


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
Track Name: Internationalism
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
Track Name: Hollywood
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