Corner Boys

Monday morning 7:50 Am Worn sneaker soles hit the pavement, because time cost to much to be fly this morning I'm late Again As usual And you would think it was too early, but weed smoke ws heavy in the air The block boys are out, already Dark silhouettes sit behind fogged up car windows They are surgeons Gutting dutches, eye searching the leafs vein they cut They have the hands of pianist Fingers moving numbly, crushing bud like dreams they were told were too big for them So they pull But with every blunt they prove nay-sayers wrong Because they are artist Their tongues painting backwards with saliva Rolling L's to later be passed in the cyper They are musicians From thin air they create clouds of dark smoke Billowing up from blackend lips My lungs cannot take it But, they are grown men, so they inhale deeply I remember thinking Maybe if I lace thier blunts with paper shreds of poetry They'd get high enough to reach redemption And maybe then, they'd be closer to God But with cement under their heels, and dirty money in their pockets They were the lords of my block And to them, that was good enough