I want (critique 'Dis!)
I want to steal women and snort pure poetry.
I want to put on a show and make everyone in my audience feel like I am looking at their souls and making them grow up.
I want to hit .390.
I want to make people unsure if they fear god.
I want to pull-off wearing boots.
I want to say it all in seven words.
I want to create post-modern tribal-sounding polyrhythms that make women moan, then scream.
I want to basically be on a great mushroom trip all the time.
I want to have stories about me on front pages.
I want to amaze people with the color, shape, and perfection-in-all-imaginable-ways of my hair cut.
I want to bullshit museum curators about the validity of their collections.
I want to wear sunglasses the way Miles Davis wore sweaters.
I want to have a balanced approach, a fighting chance, a great backhand, and a warm bed.
I want to kick dope rhymes, funny or serious.
I want to have companions, confidants, and great loves.
I want to compel hosts and hostesses to get out the good bottle of wine.
I want to have the shy little sister like me.
I want to rig the roulette game and be a determining factor in the labelling of "the right place and the right time."
I want to be worthy enough to walk toward god in this skin.
I want to bring this world toward climax.
And I want more.