bass boomin
shhhhhrrrrrrttt soft tires on pavement
chhht, a layered clap & snare from behind me
breaths of a nigga behind me, getting closer
exhaling to my right
off footsteps in the grass & dirt,
& one sharp scuff from me sidestepping a stroller
steel lock & chain aluminum fencing
soft screechin
the pressure of my index- & middle finger on the jugular referencing my heartbeat to my stepping pattern
graceful light slapping wind whipping wafting full black trashbags
you couldn’t convince me that birds weren’t just synthesizers
a thought: does my response to the calming texture of tires on streets make me inherently more American?
yo! but when i look back it ain’t for me
Billie Jean in the pharmacy
pink engine rumblings
Rick Flair slapping outside family Dollar
aluminum scratching the sidewalk
a v specific tenderness in the early spring breeze cooling my cheeks
a drill driving sumn into sumn else
a sphere of spit dropping thoo the air thoo a hole in the concrete,
it’s cave-black from top to ending
a fucking griiip of plunged needles tucked past a black fence against a tree trunk
arm like branches splintering me & beneath me
some look just like me
some nigga speaking the truth out the shadows outside Walgreens, giving that mf glory up
quintessential ice cream truck music
J’s squeaking, balls bouncing​​
lil ones on the handball court

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msw is a writer & artist living in New York City by way of Kansas City Missouri. he’s a leading authority on friendship, and plans on opening an artist residency for underrepresented artists.  his debut Sparse Black Whimsy: A Memoir is available on 2fast2house. follow him on Instagram @marcusscottwilliams @flashmemoirs