Bundled Up

At once
in Chicago
on an elevated train platform
above the street the cars clodding
through slush puddles black
with March exhaust pipes and mouths exhale breath smoke
into the crystalled air
above below
at once

How Jay-Z's A&R Rep Got Fired

Hey, Jay. You said you were working on something you wanted to show us?
H to the Izzo, V to the Izzay.
Huh?

For shizzle my nizzle used to dribble down in VA.

Dude, what are you talking about?
H to the Izzo.
Yeah, I know.
V to the Izzay.

I heard you the first time. My question is, why are you saying these things?

That’s the anthem.
Let me make sure I'm getting this. You're writing a song based mainly on Pig Latin... and you think people will like it? Jay. People won’t like it. I don’t like it.
Get your damn hands up!

Based on the fact that you are ordering us to enjoy what you are singing, I can pretty much guarantee that this is a bad idea.

H to the Izzo. V to the Izzay.
Repeating it over and over is not making it better. I’m starting to think you’re a hack.
Not guilty.

If you say so.
Yall got to feel me.
There you go losing your temper again. Just drop it. I promise you that ‘H to the izzie, v to the izzie’ is NOT ‘the anthem.’

H to the Izz-O.
Sorry.

V to the Izz-AY.
Whatever.

That’s. The. Anthem.
I have to go. I’ll see you around.
GET YOUR DAMN HANDS UP!

I found this tape, 2015

I found this tape. I found this blog. I found this baby in the night. I found this sound.
I found these drapes. I found this sound. I found this burning effigy. I found the wand.
I found a dream, floating in a lake, no a sea, no an ocean, whatever: waves crashing relentlessly.

I found this tape in a garden at midnight, on a barstool left empty, on the plastic seat of a red line train. I found this tape and did not listen.