for billy woods

used to whittle alabaster with a fold swiss army

now the cast recording script cast in woods’ gold sharpie 

a foot soldier, army man lined up to armand hammer’s arm, my hand extended, corkscrew in the palm

horseshoe in my mouth, I miss-quoted his song, a sore tooth could espouse that spit holding is harm,

I vomited logorrhea, 

all over the leader’s vans

we were standing in 

his art was my christening

mission is inching to kinship, I’m mincing, it wasn’t half as articulate 

woods looked in my eye when I told him I rapped

and said

I’m listening

Gave me the instrument he signed on my chrysalis 

Every word I write, the ink spills glistening 

woods looked in my eye and said 

I’m listening