"What Remains"

"What Remains"

Remnants rarely wash away
time that we have tossed away
like fray against gutters
clogged and cluttered
barely able to muster sufficient drain
so that the stains at least would rinse
whilst the pain remains
ever so plain.

Uncommon in moment
yet common enough
to be snuffed from headlines.
There is a deadline for breaking news
but no limit on the view from a block away
where you were.
There you lay.
Helpless.
Helped less by this world
and the decisions you've made in it
expedited by thoughts of you
often diminished
until magnified in circumstantial retrospect.

Guilt has reminded me
how routinely we respect the dead
and think nothing of the living.
We disregard the giving
and downplay kind gestures
but are never far from lecture
when life pulls you back into the mud.

Our hands are much dirtier
than that of yours, brother.
I promise you that much.

To touch your shoulder
or bring you in after handshakes
for a hug and a kind word
I've unfortunately heard and observed
more than initiated.
What I have left of my own regret
will not grace stanza
or the podium facing the congregation.
Our conversations will not carry
past the casket.
Thoughts have outlasted
any words I would think to say anyway.

When life exits,
entering in squalls
are the calls from distant contacts
looking for contact
like an abrupt breach in contract
where the clause clearly states
that they can only sedate their guilt
with lies they've built
stitched together with stories
of how much you've meant to them

but until they can say your name,
you're "Him."

What you mean to what is heard
in contrived words won't matter.
Makeshift remorse will run its course
and contrite times will shatter
and be swept away the next day

but on this day,

I don't want to stall
or recall
or remember
what I'll never forget.
Just promise those who loved you most
that you left with no regret
because even if you did,
know that we're not done with you yet

and we never will be.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

In Everlasting Memory of Gerard Howard.

Rest Well.

I Hope That You Have Found Every Measure Of Peace In The Next Life That You Couldn't Find In This Life.

"Directions Home"

"Directions Home" 

You've lost your way.
It's hard to say.
Thought we'd play
but no more today.
Remembered you far away.
Trouble was fun then.
Could run when things got heavy.
Not like we weren't ready really.
There's just too steep a price
to let you feel me.
Kneeling in a pout.
Wouldn't think to kick you out.
Whenever I search for doubt,
you look up,
open your mouth
and I release it there...

I care for how you may take it.
You lay before me naked
and I'm not feeling the vibe.
Not initial. The residual.
Events that ensue critical thinking.
Enough blinking
and that sinking feeling finds me.
Your arms find their place behind me
yet I blindly pull away from hugs
with hands that have traced
and tugged you closer.
Lead you over after travel
through the raised and broken gravel
of these streets best meant for walking.
Talking in exclusive tone
as we'd roam
when we shouldn't be alone. 

Be a long way away from me.
Don't ask me if
I said that in sincerity.
Verily I say
that I'm the most irresistible
bad idea that you've had up to this point
and you're the most decadent
vial of vindictive venom
yet to veer far from my lips.
So much that it slowly kills
when I look to rinse with every sip.
Mind foggy from trips
taken with vague intent
to the inquisitive, anyways
just to buy time
for the latter means of a few days.
How many ways we've mixed these wires.... 

.....tired truly.
Knew we would ignore
how fast the time passed.
I'm saying,
one of us should remain cognizant,
right?
Deeply draped, disfigured sights
indulged upon at night
bound to drag far to the right
where we crash,
fight
and yell
over how it was all derailed.
Frail in retrospect.
You fancy your fear of neglect
and I'm still here 

trying to make crooked lines intersect. 

We reflect progress so hard against the grain
that only confusion and pain
can serve as some sort of foundation
to halt the speed as all
is sure to come crashing down
so turn around
and don't look down
until the porch looks just like yours.
I'll lock this door
after retrieving your spare key.
Not today.
Please.
Go away.
I've nothing left to say.
Save my time:

Find your way. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"America: The Soundtrack"

"America: The Soundtrack"

You are not awake.
You're just a wake away
from hash tag homage.
If eyes could see
this form of freedom,
one would brand it bondage.
You brandish knowledge
and speak violence when provoked
where you otherwise would choke
except to proclaim that you're woke.
Slumber seen in fading vision.
Sandman takes his time.
Tradition.
He then robs you blind.
Omission.
Tragic price less sacrificed
when gleefully relinquished.
I on the other hand have seen this
and it lends me to insomnia.
Blood pushing the thermometer.
The world weeps. I can't silence her.

My ears bleed.
They hear seeds strewn in prejudice.
They fear screams
and all things used to measure this
dilapidated state.
Hapless banter over
happenstance as vast
as laps I ran with no escape
that look less coincidental
as frequency takes shape.

Your level of consciousness
Is just a consequence away
from countless RIP memes.
In a world where
what you post is who you be
and freedom is apparently a dream.
You preach about being free
and dress in chains that muzzle your voice
giving you a false sense of choice.
Wrapped in entitled hope.
Oblivious to the real fight.
Slippery slopes.
Into a pool full of lies.
Tight ropes.
Wash it all clean with the soap
but don't look too close.
Beware the dirt behind your ears.
Beware of what it will reveal.
I can't stop my emotions from bubbling over.
It causes my body to shudder
at the sorrows of the world.
Despair doesn't play fair with me.
The world weeps. I can't stop the screams.

My pen bleeds.
Struggles to breathe under the sea of bigotry.
Scared of freedom
because freedom doesn't look free
and justice sleeps with partiality.
Ink dreams of peace
and my soul hides with no escape
and things look detrimental
as frequency takes shape.

I'm caught behind
these thoughts of mine.
This morbid mind....
expected less when presented more.
Not much more to find.
You've claimed the narrow
between shadows thinner than marrow
that only serve to conceal the curve
of bow and arrow.
Bass to the base of my face.
Every pace blaring.
So long this near,
I barely hear
and you've done less for caring.
Trouble trouncing in treble
and I can't change the key.
Lies and deceit stuck on repeat
and you won't change for me.

You compete to have your voice heard.
How much do you deserve?
Are you worth the playback?
Will I get my pay back?
Didn't you say that?
Should we even listen?
Is something wrong?
Ran out of songs
yet you still charge admission?
What good are we to pay the fee
for health care when our welfare
is as marginal as he
who silenced me
behind finger and trigger?
Wouldn't call me boy
or dare think to call me "Nigger"
but statistics and figures have gathered the slack.
Your knee in my back.
You puncture my lung.
You remaster this track.
Oldest song still sung in sorrow.
A new feature tomorrow.
A new remix to borrow.
Drew some inspiration from this nation
complete with video.
Cities hold the verses
to the nervous
called to versus
the perverse at last revealed.

Rush released for mass appeal.
Record stale and sales concealed.

Run back the tape.
Turn back the hands of fate
when life was worrying about if rent was late.
Not if time was up
and you'd never wake again.
Duped by the grins.
Can't even get a decent spin from the DJ.
His hands move faster than his mind
records spinning in rewind
yet we stand still
caught in time.
Your life.
Or mine.
You win.
I die.
A slight shuffle in rotation
causes disorder but no transformation.
You hardly blink at the change in the beat
but I recognize the cadence
of your rehearsed speech.
Mouth full of inaccuracy
and truth just out of reach.

Breathe in.
Exhale.
Repeat.
Do your words taste as good as they sound?
Are they worth my time?
What about my life?
Did you get home safe last night?
Should we believe the hype?
Are you mistaken?
You're obviously shaken
but you don't believe in stereotypes?
Tell me again why we follow the rules
when you just pick and choose
draw, win, or lose
under your white house decree?
Would you prefer to call me mulatto
or does saying half breed bitch
give you more pleasure when raping me?
Your hand on my throat.
You throw me to the ground.
But you don't pull up on the choke.
Still the oldest song we know.
Still the reason we live only to hope.
A new album for the masses.
A new notch in the whip for massa.
Finding reasons to explain our demise
complete with storyboard.
Media corrals the willing
to be witness
with top billings
to the recent killing for public sale.

Exclusive shows and private viewings
perfect to catch a glimpse of USA's
infamous endangered black males.
Yet they tell us our records won't sell.

 















Written By: Kiana D. Fitzpatrick and Devin Joseph Metz

"The Booty"

"The Booty" 

Attention captured in your stroll.
Control toyed with.
Annoyed by the cars
and light poles
and buildings
and people interrupting my focus.
No less the fact
that you don't grace my path
often enough. 

Eyes closer than hands can be.
Felt so much through what I see.
Sight a grip so firm for me
that I'd risk you noticing.
Not like you don't know if he
is sitting where I am right now
as you put on this show for free
while I sit here and wonder how
something could look so pleasing.
Defined in jeans and shorts
but in skirts you're teasing.
Slow motion stares.
Daydreaming

and I might wanna feel
just to check for a fever.
I wonder if it's real.
You can make me a believer.
You might just take my soul
if the hole gets any deeper.
And honestly,
I'd put it to my face like some speakers.

Lap as bare
as the skin I fancy.
Eyes trained when you're dancing.
Focused on your frame.
I'm sure you've noticed all the same
but they won't do what I'm thinking to.
Drinking from the fountain
of thoughts so in decent
that mere mention would command privacy.
Privately pleasuring myself
to the way your waves crash...
I can't stand you
and can't stand after release.
You my piece.
My peace through perversion
that I'm sure would enjoy the show
as often as your movement incites performance.
Sit down
and let me drown in the essence.
Make sounds
as I expound upon the presence
well hung with a tongue
keen on savoring the mixture.
I long, I eat
so have a seat
upon so permanent a fixture.

He had too much of me
Now he leaves pleasantly
Under me,
but
he's over me
So I can succeed
Wrapped in skin he never knew from within
so he shakes me
Makes me feel his
claws on my cheeks
Makes me suck his thoughts
while his mouth makes me weak
He's under me,
but
he's over me
Admiring me intensely,
awaiting the booty. 

I can't help how it bounces when I walk
or jiggle when I talk
I can twerk it in your face
and make you never leave the shade. 

A willful submission
to something naturally made
I'm BLACK and I'm seasoned with tremendous waves
Can't spell cellulite without u lit
and I'm well equipped with supreme goddess shit
You know how much knowledge I hold
in my behind without looking behind
or pressing rewind
to learn the minds of the naked indigenous
rhymes in gold mines
I tell you everything because u can hear me
I tell u to go deeper so u can learn me
So much booty,
it's immaculate
So much wisdom
it's infinitely attractive. 

Are you even ready for this jelly?
Smack it,
bite it,
choke me til I'm blue.
Cumming in waves
like when u spank me
for being bad and telling the truth.

The small of my back is as big as the bounce
so be careful when u pounce. 

Ounce for ounce,
I'd drink your water.
The taste much harder to resist
with you resting on my wrists
and my shoulders
bent over
precision in every lick
incision envisioned between the lips
Honey gathered there
lathered and soaked in spit.
I've gathered where you should sit.
You pride in provoking shit.
The Savage magic of this
soft and smooth in my grip
to bare down and tear down
relaxed with face down elated
helping the booty grow. 

How deep before we know.... 

I reach out for it when asleep...

Pulling me closer to your needs. 

Rush of lust so well defined.

Incognegro through my minds whine. 

Seal ripped fresh for fruit this tender.

Slumbers too real;
circumference you can't conceal. 

Circumstantial this mantle my chin is placed upon.

Crowned with tender meat, 
ready to beat, 
so move ya feet and praise me.

 
























This boundless blessing you gave me.....

Written By: Evelyn Rivera & Devin Joseph Metz

"After"

"After" 

Losing sleep tonight
focused on the intentional.
The physical means.
That critical delay before dreams
as detailed as the thoughts are.
I'd be lying if I said
that I fought hard
and put forth some effort
to forget it
like that's even possible.
I bottle those recollections
and seal them tight
but it all bursts before sunlight. 

Someone might understand the semantics.
I've certainly never planned this secrecy.
How well you see me
in the dark
is a stark reminder
to what has become the primer
the precursor
the first coat
the initial soaked sheet in this bed.
Eyes red in restlessness
so I'm here confessing this much
only stopping to touch consistently.
Persistence,
she's a little outdated.
We've waited and waded
and the well still hasn't run dry.
We thought less of stopping by;
choosing instead to just think
of that cool drink. 

I'd sink in
if I blink while writing
words only worth reciting
in our stints of privacy.
Forced to move about quietly
pining over a past
proven to last
when all else eventually becomes stale.
Intriguing how a concept
so frail
can offer strength
to that which is deep seated.
Relived the worst things
with the best of outcomes
until relieved of such 

when I come 

a little closer.
Mind doubled over.
Times this sober
yet still hungover.
Flung over covers.
Tension is smothered.
Swung at it until my soul hovers
and I can feel the stains
ingrained as much into this fabric
as the decadence and havoc
that would become this tragic memory. 

This of we.
Enough for two
but there's none for me

and no more of you. 

I can't stand this truth... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Number 9"

"Number 9"

Level of lunacy
true to me.
Who is he
and why is he
so close to the edge?
That's just the shadow.
I'm years over the cliff
and through the narrows
still picking at bone marrow
scratching through the scraps
that I've scraped
while entertained by your
concept of a narrow escape.
Mind in a harrowing state.
The tip of the arrow through nape
that sealed your neck with your cape
before your spine dented the pavement.
Villainous pill
barely thrilled with theatrics
treating the actress
like the stunt double.
Anarchist antagonist
forcing the lead role
to cleave holes trapped under rubble
just to perceive the damsel in trouble.
Close enough to cuddle
before the hack and slash
stashed beneath the sash
that will disclose the wounds.
Confinement without the cage.
Concentrated conscious rage
that incremental age cannot impede against.
Seen where sense is barely common.
Scene with scent that rarely I'm in.
Nowhere close within the light.
Dark the shroud in plain sight
stainless when the rain hits
the skin against the cloth.
Thought spared after the action
regardless of reaction
or what factions stand in resistance.
The meager and the masses
will watch in horror
as the scars form too wide to scab over.
Stabs over target points.
Grabbed and disbarred the joints
to stand over like a druid
witnessing you lose your fluid
and your will to breathe.
No deed performed for need
or reaction
or retort.
No plot or penchant for greed.
Lost on logic.
Lustful sport.
Fallen Angel with black wings.
Feathers dark and talon sharp
ripping clothes,
slicing toes
and uprooting the concrete rose.
Testament to lack of mercy certainly.
Certain he discovered
hovering over
simply slumping you over
like my subject for dissection.
Vanguard of dereliction
much more physical than political in vision
and you still can't perceive
although a view this scenic
displays the genius indecence
of the beast marked Phoenix
circling back
before you fall back
as your essence is ripped raw
while the rest hangs from the claws..... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Turbulence"

"Turbulence"

Greed for the speed.
This much I don't need.
Exceeds and impedes
what was meant in my pacing.
Mind
like my legs
like my heart
just racing
and I'm facing more than I've explored.
I cannot afford under duress
so the stress I call progression.
I promised to learn the lesson
and apply it well.
Well said.
Loop I can't thread
when my tires fail tread
and hydroplane into the next measure.
Eyes locked on treasure
can't appreciate the distance
or the time spent bridging the gap.
Mishap of the shaken.
Mileage much mistaken
and my cruise misconstrued
so I've lost some control.
Sold on the search for the soul years after
when I'm close to the crash
and my first is my last chance
to brake and drive slower.
Nightmares of the smolder.
Afterburner hotter than a furnace full of coal
and you wonder why I signal.

Burned into my mental
are events instrumental to acceleration.
Elevation once a foregone conclusion
now resembles confusion in clusters
and short spurts I've not mustered
any sufficient resistance to.
Those who know knew less
and those who knew knew nothing
of my turbulent times.
Tumultuous times
where the line blurs
and my sight once sharp and stern
is but a distortion aggravated in increments
too well placed to be perceived coincidental
but who do I blame?
Time is untamed
and famous for the push forward.
Somewhat infamous.
Some of it I trust
but most of it has forsaken me.
Can't catch up to what chases me.
Trapped in steam and vapor dreams.
View less pristine awakening.
Time loaned taken away from me.
I can't slow down
so pray for me....

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Vino"

"Vino"

Acting like you lost the invitation.
Attacking like you weren't in the equation
when you took shortcuts
just to skip a few levels.
Walking back defeated.
Disheveled
and even more envious of the bezel. 

Why couldn't you just take yours....

Better with mine.
I'm better defined
and rather profound.
More effective when found
after all that is lost.
Attempts have a cost
yet you've tossed them into dirt
like it wouldn't hurt.
Rain helps with the pain.
The less that you know
while I soften the blow.
Always had more to show.

Thankful for distraction.

Our interactions critical.
The sad part?
This is vintage.
Rough on the eyes.
The uncomfortable image.
Uneasy.
Queasy.
Unbearable sight when we fight
where I let you be right
when I still wasn't wrong.
This is taking too long
but this is life prolonged.

Better with signs
to assist with detection.
Better outlined.
I could use some direction.
Tried self protection
but I've hemorrhaged lately.
Veins drain from the chains
to the ankles on an angle
and we both had to dangle
when it was time to step up.
Thought myself a step up
but you can't hide demeanor.
Air much cleaner
when I choose to concede.
You get the chance to succeed
but is that all that you needed?

Better when I'm
not willing to challenge the words.
You ask me what you heard
as if I were to flinch.
Teeth clench
like the fist does.
A kiss does
absolutely nothing for me.
Can't pacify the fruit
and expect fermentation.
At least when routinely pulverized,
I had reason for this fixation
upon the process of potential.
Convinced that the process was essential.
No easy sell presumably
since you knew me
and thought that I
would rather die
than be alive and alone.

Grapes aren't grown in such shade.

Should I fade,
please watch me wither
if you won't dare
impart as giver
to lend a hand
and tend to vines.
Your pride our trap.
We are confined

and the raisin wasn't meant to reach the water.

Better with time
that I've used on the specifics.
Richer with time
much to the chagrin of the cynics.
The clinic designed
to manage, process and refine
but I am small batch.
No use for tall vats and latches.
Threaten with matches.
I will be the year lamented over.
Functional tears tell of a fear
that you have taken over.

You see,
under the heat I smolder
but with the cold I build.
Dash of vermouth
to up the proof
so please indulge when chilled.
Every bit worth the field
where vines have grown in measures.
The rarest wine made over time

and this life is looking better.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"F.M.L.: Detour"

"F.M.L.: Detour"


We took this path
when you took me back
and I took this fall
and I took your call
then we watched it all.
We heard the blast
and we felt the crash
but we could not stall.
The worst of it all
on display in the shade
of a veil forged in wells
more saline than the tears
that have run to the ears for refuge.
To choose is a struggle
that should never have been.
The love that of a friend
becoming a "remember when"
is much more than either of us bargained for.
The smoldering shelter
filled with burning letters
has taken the form of a deleted thread.
Patience depleted and optimism premium
over me not being the "him"
that you never wished to pull from.


Here it comes......


The haphazard,
feeble,
pointless,
sporadic,
pedantic,
frantic attempt to push away.
Far away
until the day you impart the stranger words:
"Hey Stranger."
Made your point as clear
as the haze in your perception.
Gave direction without the map
and memory never applied.
Lied to bide
because you need to hide
when you'd much rather confide
but there is harm in these arms
no matter how warm.
Thoughts will swarm across the surface.
I'm anxious.
You're nervous.
We're angry.
This ain't we.
This can't be.

 
































Neither can we.


Forks.
Maps.
Locations.


Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Reactionary"

"Reactionary" 

Tall order for short measure.
You only notice when I talk reckless
and to talk reckless,
I need the checklist.
Checkered past
but a chest filled with pawns.
Floored on the board
and the chess is prolonged.
No vest on my chest
cutting through like the bishop
more ruthless than rook.
Castle with hooks
and never paid for the bars.
Real mean for my queen.
That's why the king has his scars. 

Still don't know who you are. 

More easily identifiable by far
than by most up close.
Recognition up to par
from the way that you boast
but what is noticed the most?
You only see me
when the back meets the ropes
and you're trapped
and you choke.
You would laugh unprovoked
as if I couldn't stay woke.
I don't sleep on subliminal.
The criminal caught
is the lesson taught
where few have listened. 

I guess tradition doesn't matter. 

I suppose I'm to be flattered
because you were just playing.
Right?
I romp and ridicule
and now you want to fight.
Right.
Took your night
and let today have a look.
Time frame for mind games
and still found time to cook.
You can't play by this book.
I wrote every chapter.
Wouldn't feed on knowledge
now you're starving after the fact..... 

........what remains intact is the fact
that you don't want me to release the evil.
You blink or sigh
or question why
and there will be upheaval.
Stabbed with the sharpest needles.
Wounds similar in dimension
that slowly drain what you've sustained
to invoke your ascension.
Lest I fail to mention,
I'm not one for boast or sport
so when I come for teeth and tongue,
consider it retort.
The spoils for such a chore.
Nothing less. Nothing more
and that's me being nice.
A meager price
just to settle the score
and before you gain sense,
I will have rinsed away the remnants.
Was offended that you'd try.
Thought at first to wonder why
when you know how hot the flame burns
in an instant for onlookers in the distance.
The one thing worse than a death sentence
is your existence
during my relentless persistence.

You can't prevent this. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"F.M.L."

"F.M.L."

The road less traveled
with our roles mishandled
where potholes dismantle
things we shouldn't look to build...
Holes we've created
never filled past the extent.
Intent burns quicker than desire
and it hurts to feel the fire.
Discomfort.
This warmth between us.
Knowing how much we need us
whilst hoping the world can't see us.
Love this strong between us  
is the puzzle that stumped the genius.

We are Rubix and Crucifix.

For you my feelings sacrificial
while better served in dismissal.
I shouldn't need you to stay.
Fought through things to say
to push away
but somewhere inside,
I haven't matched six sides yet.
You take me high
yet 
I've grown sick from this.

If you knew of my regrets,
you'd stop asking if I'm okay
and let me just exist.

This too must cease
but we don't desist
and we draw closer to death
with every breath pondered.
Wandered through possibility
trying to justify our ability
to coexist with some stability
but we are cylinder and square peg.
Watched my heart beg
beyond my judgmental mind.
Rationale rationed well
enough for me to hide behind
the darkest part of a truth
that most would call a lie.
I look to text you "Hi"
and you won't say "Goodbye."
Over the phone:" Are you alone?"
and I'm not asking why.
We find a zone then you go home
and I just want to die
but I
much like you
stretched this heart in two places.
Knots much larger than shoelaces
as we make faces that subdue
the curiosity they drew.
I hide from her.
He's fine with you.

What new have we discovered?

These thoughts,
they hover over me so thick
and intimate
and personal.
Pictured things I've hoped to know
past the passion of imagination.
Calling you my fixation.
Broiling with indignation
when he pulls you away from me.
Love of yours he takes from me.
He takes for free
something so priceless.
Full of envy and I don't like this.
Rush of lust and I can't fight this.
Not much longer.
Something stronger must become my distraction.
Reactions once easily concealed
are revealed with much more frequency.
You cross my mind frequently
and I know my place in yours.

Several scores of emotions
that we shouldn't have to deal with
rise on purpose
with great purpose
to the surface and I feel it
and I'm filled with so much of you.
There is just so much of you.
Too much of you to keep at bay.
Can't get a way
to get away
so you get to stay
and what I try to say
isn't what I really want to.
I really want you.
I need you bad.
Another dose of what I never had
in the first place.
That first taste of the sweetest bitter.
Eyes well from the endless river.
Bit my lip just to stave the quiver
of speaking promises that I can't deliver
and I'm sorry
and it's all me
and it's us too.
I wish it was all you
and we both know
how far this goes
but please,
don't go.

Just don't.
No.....don't. 

No.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

~ Forks. Maps. Locations. ~

"Dark Matter"

"Dark Matter" 

Broke the bulb
when the flicker turned dim.
Child of light
complete with devilish grin
all the same with no fangs
concealed behind whispers. 

This per the patience
that was once religion to me.
Time drove division through me
with each new incision soothing
as the strain progresses. 

I've done less with hope
and much more without the wish
yet I insist upon wondering
if I'm among your favorite sins committed.

Repeatedly livid perceiving the possibility
that I might not be granted inclusion.
Exclusion an acquired taste, after all.

So used to crawling to the finish
just to witness a prize as diminished
as my pride has grown after ambition. 

I no longer care to listen.

Watch me slaughter every light
and make the world stop.
Shadows no longer fight
in corners to remain on top.
Lay where light used to hide.

Shimmering remnants trapped inside.
Lodged deeper than shrapnel
from the shattered shards of shine
less divine in this design
than the coarser grains refined
until fine as that of sugar.
Took your gleam and scraped it clean.
Fit to fiend for the obscene.

Think on dreams you'd never speak of
where cheap love
is ransomed for lust.
Each hug the precursor for trust:
the tool that rules before us.
Blew dust from the wicked ways.
Foundation built amid this haze
of guilt you've no doubt succumbed to
until I reach deep enough
for you to come to
and come for me
as I came for you
under shade.
Lost the days.
Savored nights.
Little sight needed when near.
Fear once a formality
is now a residue to be rinsed clean.
Don't be afraid of what is unseen.
There are no screens forewarning.
The adjoining lips,
limbs
and fingers
linger longer
where the stronger urges outlast
what time presents
when light is cast upon it. 

Flaws flaunted
once haunted
encourage the charmer. 

Used to need
the talk and chatter
to get here much faster. 

Thought it right
to embrace light
until it all grew darker. 

Not need to fight.
What comes this night
should be all that matters.... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Timeless Part 4: Strings"

"Timeless Part 4: Strings"

The fringe.
Sourced by misfortune
I've binged on.
I've been gone
but my remnants are in
your line of sight.
Naivety teaches you
that my good nights
are when the room is silent
like violence needs
an audience.
Calling this the peaceful purchase.
The peace you've purchased.
The peace of purchase
but pieces surfaced
long before I checked in bags
or underwent the jetlag
proportionate to the distance traveled. 

Fringe
like frills
unraveled until thin
and fine.
Chills down the spine,
sore the neck
and bruised the shoulders.
Air colder than conditioned.
Thought I'd listen once I faced
thoughts that still just hunt and chase
and swipe
and swing
at life to bring
me lower than
this trench I've flooded.
Not long before rough and rugged
are the safest ways to suffer.
Strength not mustered.
Time not salvaged.
Lost in clusters.
Cracking.
Damaged.
Damned from boil to bandage
disadvantaged like I've planned this
while this far away. 

I've timed less
on the timeless.
The things that endure
were never as pure to me as pain.
Nothing stays quite like the stain
and my brain much like this train
is a bullet piercing thoughts trapped in the tunnel.
I appear undone
to the not quite whole
who prefer to poke holes
in hopes of saving their souls
from what none of us can outrun.
More outdone than un.
Less feeling for one
or a few feigning concern.
Took your turn
and took mine away
so you'll be blind the day
that I pick up and leave.
Sit and try to conceive.
Maybe we'll find reprieve in both ways. 

The shears again threaten the thread.
I tread haphazardly in navigation.
Nothing matters of the latter but the fringe.
Fatter in my binge.
The unhealthy has dealt me
a loose hand.
Thought of the truce
but it gets cold when I fold
so I play it out.
Ive laid it out
for no one to bear witness.
Purpose of the distance.
Punctuality like cavities
carving craters in each sentence.
Plane prescribed plain
to kill pain without the dentist
but the same plains from which
I abscond and abstain
in search of the sane
might be where my portion remains... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Timeless Part 3: God Is He"

"Timeless Part 3: God Is He"
 

Babygirl, I apologize.

I see life's lies in your eyes 

and I want to revise: 

 

God is He. 

Can he say sorry? 

God is He in all.

It's glory. 

 

You are no neighbor to me but a mockery of sincere pleas.

Beg. I want you on your knees.

Get down. Pray to the most High 

beating your chest when her heart is at rest. 

How many times will you kiss her with deception? 

How many times will you speak of wrong direction? 

How many times will you say everything is gonna be fine? 

How many times will you fuck her pussy instead of her mind? 

You imprison her, beyond misogynistic. 

Soon time it'll only be conjugal visits. 

She'll turn to stone and be wrapped in snakes

because she has nothing at stake, becoming a foe.

Not being able to fix it so you deem her a hoe.

You can't hand out time with unclear signs.

You can't hand out time when its a poisonous vine.

You can't blame women when God is in their eyes.

You can't blame women when they beam sunshine. 

She revealed you to you.

Your battle isn't her truth.

Your forced powers are elegant masks draped in chivalry. 

You are not Moses just because you've parted seas.

Women stay wet on their own. 

Even though tears drop, they are from her home. 

You can state facts all you want for condone.

No need to speak life, she has two lips of her own.  

She has four reasons to speak life into your soul. 

You may be handsome in spirit and a legend on the streets 

but it is women who carry your legacy.

You can hold everything, even your pride.

God is she and she rules time.

 

Dear brother, pardon me.

I see what is marred of we

and wish to adjust accordingly.

God is she.

Should God be contrite?

She is God holistically

in all her magnificence.

You are no trophy.

Just a puppet running out of plans

whose hands and knees should greet the pavement

more than those before enslavement ended.

Render yourself to the celestial

whether riddled in those shackles

due to circumstance or your volition.

How long will breaking hearts become tradition?

How long will you remain within transition?

How far along must he follow behind?
How far does this plot truly run in your mind?

You accost him past the point of material means

where a tempest of jewelry and designer jeans

rip violently through what was once the ideal

concept of what a good man provides.

You've had less time and did more damage.

You've made less time to apply that bandage

and you can't blame one for the multitude.

You can't blame the masses for what one truly exudes.

To confide in you

is a task not as arduous

as society would have you believe.

Being his reprieve

does not absolve responsibility.

Stability is paramount

and accountability essential.

The instrumental can't escape the truth in their actions.

Consistency is not a run on sentence

nor is it a redaction

but a constant reaction to a change

that needed to take place.

He cannot be disgraced

while you long to save face.

Shortcomings will forever be prolonged

when fighting each other for the throne.

She

and He

and lust for control

and there's no real rush

to find one's soul.

You may be gorgeous enough to be claimed as spouse

but it takes more than bricks to build the house.

What isn't firmly rooted will rise with the tide.

God is he.

Set false idols aside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Written By: Evelyn Rivera and Devin Joseph Metz

"Timeless Part 2: Red Eyes"

"Timeless Part 2: Red Eyes"

A couple million miles from home.
By myself.
I fly alone.
Just one bag.
One carry-on.
Just tonight and then I'm gone.
Swift as the emergency.
Movement with some urgency.
You can't take this hurt from me.
Can't let you take the nerve of me. 

Made my way throughout the thick.
Snatched the candle.
Cut the wick.
Stretched me thin.
It made me sick.
Wearing thin
so I made it quick.
Repackaged and purposed me.
Repackaged me purposely.
Had that candle burn for me. 

Cut the wick.
No burn for free. 

Man of action.
Verb is he.
Sent the faction to murder me.
Men of action murder thieves.
Think then act 

or hurt for me. 

Mind dismantled from the start.
Mine just travels in the dark
but mine intact retains the fact
that there's no use in coming back. 

Swift as the emergency.
Movement with some urgency.
You can't take this hurt from me.
Can't let you take the nerve of me. 

Nothing recent to report.
No reaction. No retort.
Eerie how those words contort
until there's order in the court.
Stalked in silence.
Hunt for sport
as if the violence was resort
to fortify a hoard of eyes
that now wonder why you're mortified. 

Hi. 

I chimed in some kindness
to help with the blindness. 

Hi. 

I practiced well wishes
to help with the sickness. 

Why? 

Don't act like you miss this.
Enough with that sick shit. 

Bye. 

Not here when you visit.
Less time for more business. 

I'm timeless and vicious.
Elastic and viscous.
Outlasting your first sip
and choking you senseless.
Was livid. I'm listless.
Resolved as relentless.
Involved and indignant
aching for this distance. 

Repackaged and purposed me.
Repackaged me purposely. 

No departing words from me.
Witness charged a service fee.
Told them that you've heard of me.
Atop the skies where eyes can't see.
Above the clouds reserved for me.
Frequent miles. I fly for free
with this notebook next to me.
Overnight flight to Italy... 

Written By:Devin Joseph Metz

"Timeless Part 1: Prologue"

"Timeless Part 1: Prologue" 

Poet in five letters.
Throw me. I fly better
with blessings from the river.
No love letters delivered
to the address
of those vexing
me for plain text
meshed together cleverly.
Distressed heavily
over the lame sex you're treasuring. 

Stressed Poet. 

Less Poets
would admit the same
that the best Poets
get noticed
for less in their name
unless the eyes observe thighs
or the lengthy protrusion.
Confusion I can't salve.
We give the world two halves
but they just eat dessert. 

Overt this message going forward.

Nothing worse in the least
than viewed as merchants in streets
looking to sell or compete
when living hell to complete
and feel like more than stories told
of the daring and the bold
silk array,
PDA,
flirt and play to get you wet,
skirt and stay until you fret
and other things that I regret
you giving full attention to. 

Truth be told,
It's overdue. 

Rest my hair to fit the crown.
Cultured thief.
Sir Thomas Crown
here to extract your expectation,
prediction and stale elation.
Without lust,
You're bored, I see.
Some of you will grow bored with me.
More perceived as chores
to be ignored but I implore:

Look past lapels and satin
and gimmicks your mind is wrapped in.
See it all for the first time.
Far beyond the words that rhyme
between lines
and behind the grace.
Drew this line
just to mark the place
where you first realized
that the one trick rhyme
serves a one track mind
that should do more with less time. 

Poet in five letters.
Can't search for five better 

Deliberately
Evoking
Visionary
Influence in
Numbers. 

We Are Timeless... 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz