Poems by
Sean Ginyard (a.k.a. Davey-Mansion) SPIRIT I’m Philly, Boston, and Jersey. Now I’m New York, the equation of nonconventional thought. From all walks of life I’ve often walked. I’m educated talk combined with street-life dreams I never sell. I was up South when most cats were locked up North. I knew in ’92. I can see farther. I’m the jeweled goblet in the cup of the Godfather, I’m a modern book of philosophy. I’m a newer age author. I’m the lost soul in the gutter, the kid who gets nervous around a fly dame and stutters. I’m that smooth guy who owns the world in my brain even when my pocket suffers. I’m the most and less, the worst and best. I’m an entity with the ability 2 stretch. I’m Trayvon’s hoodie. I’m a break-dancer’s pop-luck boogie. I’m a machine gun with no bullets. I’m a spliff with no green pull it. I’m spirit. My own—me, no other duplicate, society can stereotype me. It’s reality being subjected to some stupid shit. My spirit absorbs planetary data. I’m a man who matters. I’m broken glass that was once shattered. I’m Obama’s speech. I’m the Mafia’s code of loyalty. I’m nearby and still hard to reach. I’m brown and walk coolly. I’m rock-and-roll and Hendrix groovy. I’m an indie movie that has many plot twists. I’m serious business. I’m an organized future plan. I’m spirit realized FLY
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