duel of the iron mic

At the height of their fame and glory, they turned on one another.
Each struggling in vain for ultimate supremacy.
In the passion and depth of their struggle
The very art that had raised them to such heights was lost.
Their techniques, vanished.

buried in the sand

where i fall
slowly asking
shaken out of time
on the line in everything
turn back like
when i say
you strike me
growing into these clothes

set out to go begin
witness my morning dream
explained in prose and verse
and rhyme and scheme
growing into these clothes
handed down
oceans froze
metal on the beach
everyone reaching out
with detectors
rolling up their pants

carve my initials in a tree
it will always be, for now
will i ever be cured of this?
where is everyone?
when is it?
who are we?
growing into these clothes
stretching out the seams
tearing away the knees

take that breath
the last one
before they dry
the line is the way
just pull
and fold
and get dressed
look at yourself


W

Robert Fucking Downey Junior