Misplaced Faith

*Misplaced Faith*

The body is a temple.
One that you were born into. But of course you were born into it. Although Spiritual Births are not always pro-choice, more often than not people are brought into their realm—ready or not.
Scriptures of the Afterlife beget Pro-Life, and when abortive measures are taken against their appointed church, they are condemned to eternal damnation…or a lower class in the next life…

Depending on where you were born.

Well, that’s enough to make a believer out of many.
Even if in their doctrine they can find many flaws…
so they worship in accordance to location…
and work tirelessly to cleanse out their flaws.

If you’re from the West you may seek to go to Heaven,
if you’re from the East—you’d instead pursue Nirvana.
If from Jerusalem you may ask Rabbis for guidance,
if Korea you may find the Dalai Lama.

Who do you believe in?
What do you believe in?
Let me remind you that your body is a temple.
Who, oh Who: Will you let in?

Everyone has potential followers, but like every holy sanctum: veneration is adverse to acclimation. Religion is only two letters away from Region, which is why the two are so close together. You may find someone who in fact worships you…as you do him or her…but the faith you share that your love is the truth, is a testament to position—not necessarily a pious movement.

If love were a Jehovah’s Witness, it would be right outside your door, but your prophet may be hundreds of miles away…
Don’t shoot the messenger.

Listen to your heart for the gospel of romance, and if it tells you that your delivery is far, far away…
Go on a Pilgrimage—
to
Retrieve it.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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Tolerance

*Tolerance*

Serve me the
Unadulterated Proof—
I am a Fully Grown Adult
In demand of your
Full Service.

I like my women how I like my coffee:
Black and Hot.
Better Yet,
I like my women how I like my whiskey:
Strong and Intoxicating.
I want to down all of your potency, but I fear that you fear I’ll find your undiluted nature to be impure.
So you save your strongest stuff for roughnecks at the edge of the bar and discreet journeymen on the heels of your confessionals.
Something tells me you think I am a lightweight because I do not flaunt legendary stories of intake. But sweetheart, believe me when I say:

You have No Idea how high my tolerance is.

No, I will not judge, and I will not budge—
When I feel the effects of your
Absolute Content.

So here’s to a raunchy good time…

Bottoms Up.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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Maintenance

*Maintenance*

I’ve got to do some inside Maintenance, before
I can even consider having company.

I’ve got way too much junk in here, and although I could use some company, I’m dreading the ringing of the doorbell, because
I am far from ready to
Let anyone in.
Fortunately, I’m not expecting anyone.
Unfortunately.

That gives me all the more time to clean up and get to work
On the rebuild.

You can’t expect someone else to clean up your own mess.

I’ve got to do some
inside Maintenance,
Before I can even think about having some company.

I must roll up my sleeves and begin to seal the cracks that go beyond my surface,
And repair the flood of thoughts that clog my future.
I’m drained—
and in desperate need of indoor plumbing.
My soul leaks and everything is so damn drab and bland.

It’s way past time to get to work.

And when remodeling is complete and that doorbell sounds…
I will gleefully let you inside—
And we can begin building a
Happy home.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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Empire

*Empire*

I will take these two hands and with cracked then bloody knuckles I’ll build an Empire.
I will build a fortress out of rubble,
I’ll wear myself down to a stubble.
I will then make an autonomous list:
Then I will rule
with an Iron Fist.

***

This is My Empire.
It is my own.
From My Blood,
My Sweat,
My Struggle and hard work,
My Great Black Sea
from a body of hurt.
Intellectual compromise is forbidden—
I dictate law,
And so it is written:

  1. What I say—Goes.
  2. What I think—Flows.
  3. Every line must be real.
  4. Thou shalt not steal.
  5. I shall write from a pure-driven place.
  6. One who writes for money shall be ruled a disgrace.
  7. Vain motives will result in shame.
  8. Thou shalt not write in pursuit of fame.
  9. Unoriginal work is the Ultimate Sin.
  10. I vow to always go All In.

I welcome
Any Gender
Any Race
Any Creed:
This palace was not built
on Greed.

Even if it must be in order to endure.

Every emperor, king, and ruler
could not govern on heart & soul alone…

So I will venture where Caesar never dared,
I will equip for a battle that
Augustus never fared;
I’ll turn a Dark Age into Palatine,
and I will build it
With Hardly a Dime.

But when I build it—
Will they come?
I’ll stand by my kingdom until
kingdom come.

And should this forsaken fortress soon collapse:

My efforts will rebuild & double
&
I’ll begin once again,
rebuilding from rubble.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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Heart of the Matter

*Heart of the Matter*

She’s got something inside that beats within me.
It sure beats being alone…
And it beats you, too.
Sorry. :0(

Not trying to break your heart, but…hmm…how do I break this to you…

You don’t have a heart.

You’ve got a frame that could hang on the walls of horny teenagers and grown men; legs that rise like coconut pumps,
An ass built like a dump truck,
And a chest so big that it seems to have crushed your heart.
What a killer smile.
You take wicked pleasure from the pain that you cause…
but then I remembered the one trait that you lack:
Your heart’s broken.
Like a female dog who just doesn’t give a shit:
You’re housebroken.
See but this little lady is stronger than any amazon,
Between you and her it’s a no contest:
It’s her I’ve now placed bets on
Because
The heart doesn’t matter to a woman like you
&
The Heart of the Matter’s she’s more woman than you.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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On a Hot Tin Roof

*On a Hot Tin Roof*

She’s so uptown fly she’ont need
Aviation Classes.
She’s so smokin’ tan cool she’ont need
Couture Sunglasses…

Fit this airshow pilot with some goggles and strapped galoshes,
And Watch her Take Off.

***

Her proximity to the sun helps forecast why she’s so damn hot.

We’re in the middle of a whipstall, while she’s poised both feet on a hot tin tile:

Vogue.

Travelers are moving undercover to try & spy a way to love her:

Rogue.

They’re on Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

She’s got the Built Frame of a Model Air Plane—
A Hot Rocket Too Fly for Any Terrain.

If you want to see this Stunning Observation…
First, you must get on her level.
She remains steadily in place
to halt
A Crash-Land-Falling from Grace.

She was even sure to Strap Protection on her Kitty-Kat…

Safety First.

You’ve purchased a ticket to a rousing exhibition;
Though you can’t fly with whom you can’t see,
&
Her Swag Exceeds a Thousand Degrees.
She travels alone and has already parked on the roof,
Yet we still Marvel at this Stellar Air Display.

Painted by Vincent Cacciotti

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Recycled Lyrics

*Recycled Lyrics*

We may not be able to share one another’s Headphones
But I think I know what you meant.
You may say,
“That was a great song,”
Time after Time,
Since there is
No Art Known to Man
That is harder to capture in words than Song—
Until you just run out of adjectives.
We’ll have to rely on the singers to do the talking for us.
We are, after all, sitting right next to one another; and yes, it’s evident to me that those chords spoke to the both of us.
Just as some lyrics may be recycled, your words have surely been spoken by you and millions of others over and over again. And just as with the singer, although you and I may not realize it, when you say those words, I too feel the individual pitch of your words that connect you to that specific song…just as that song connected us.
It goes without saying how great that song was. And I know you said those same words three songs earlier, but I can hear the difference. I know what you meant.
The truth is, all we have are educated guesses. I know where that song took me, and by the stillness of the room and in our composures, I’m fairly certain where it took you. And those five words will have to do as the only proof to validate what I already knew: That Song Speaks for Itself.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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Supermassive Black Hole Ablaze

*Supermassive Black Hole Ablaze*

Your Effigy is my Muse
And it Ignites as I
Light the Fuse.

My affection was carved in stone—
It was a monument
Beloved—to Behold…
Now the world is watching it burn.
Burn, baby, burn.

***

S-B-H is my Muse
And it Ignites when they
Light the Fuse.

Electricity breaks out the gate
With Superstar-Static Riffs.
What results is an outer galaxy beat
Exploding from a Neutron Star Collision.

Q: If neutrons have no charge, then how can theirs set my soul alight?

A: It’s out of this fucking world.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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More for Me

*More for Me*

Tonight she told me that she’s gained a few pounds…
Then I felt like doing backflips.
Not because there’s “more of her to love…” but because there’s now less for the world.

So Bon Appétit!
Have some more Po’ boys!
Help yourself to some chicken & dumplings,
Biscuits and gravy and pecan pie!
Keep loading up on turkey and jambalaya…stuff yourself with more stuffing, oh, and of course: jelly doughnuts!
What’s that? You’ve got a craving for some more banana pudding??
Yes, Please!!
And when you’re done with all of that, I got a full slab of BBQ ribs with your name on it!

The more pounds—The merrier!
She could be 5 bills
&
I’d still marry her!

While everybody says she’s not their taste,
I’ll eat her up and thank the Lord with stuffed face…
While she may change and morph into a different size,
She has the same soul
I eyed in the first place.

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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Sign

*Sign*

Jay’s BBQ Potato Chips—
2/$5

Only we are too busy trying to read each other.

We both roam about this aisle—
But neither is making a move.

I feel the tension as strongly as the Peach Snapple that’s in my hands,
but without such a touch—I can’t be sure…
I feel that She, Too, is seeking confirmation of a potential barter…
But what if she really is reading the ingredients of Chef Boyardee?
Maybe we’re just another two random people placed next to one another…
but This, She, & I-Pray-Me-To-She:
Sure does feel special.

Though I can’t be certain: I feel our dire advertisement—
We Read:
Show Me You Feel This;
Give Me a Sign.”

From Art of Mind III: The Evolution of a Trilogy
Copyright © 2013 Clyde Aidoo

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