Within The Confines of a Beautiful Mind

Poet. Dreamer. Fool.

Chapbooks --

1. Word. Art. Warrior. Thought.

2. To: All the Robots and Pretty Girls.

3. Jive Turkey Renaissance

4. Polymath.

5. Ronin: an Odyssey

6. Sucker Punch: Fear & the Inner-City Blues

7. Sunshine Cinema

8. How to: Fix the World
*In Production*

9. Indigo (Dark) Carousel

10. Homeless
*In Production*

Novels --

1. Heartbomb Meta Blues
*In Production*
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concrete carpets, dusk bonnets;
archons vomit — machine gun non-fiction;

poor diction, new species
peace free chief tepees divide our shivas —
the trumpet tribes are longing for rest,
sadness nests; their dragon’s breath
remains a dragons breadth;

an ear’s death deaf to death’s ears
shadows step near
razors played with razor blades — scars are soil

boil the virginity til done,
no sun here — sunglasses?
funglasses for the masses,
you can’t look directly at it
too much or you go blind.

Emmanuel Njomo jr., A Vial of Polygons, Homeless

happy birthday —
trick or treat —

meat is whatever the lion says meat;
“stay silver” the mouth said to the spoon;

keep cashing them reality checks —
I love looking up,
the night sky looks like a giant black velvet buddha,
deathdancing like a barracuda
on a dirty deck —

put wings on whatever’s next;
with a throat full of triangles
and a mouth made of spiderwebs —
the vice ether called me father,
I stretched farther as if to hug,
I stretched wider as if to love —

the courtesan of suicidal thought,
brought, daguerreotypes of futures wrought;
stopped: the crystal thoughts and spontaneous space —


Emmanuel Njomo Jr., States of Grace, Crickets, and a Chainsaw, Homeless 

preach brooklyn; whisper manhattan;
best believe, makeup is warpaint — in she walked,
hot enough to bake the sun; high midnight
attempting to slay the darkness; she was a fire still learning
burning, a quake shake on a moon mountain;

preach brooklyn; whisper manhattan;
jazz is the opera of the block;
a block filled with lips that have a talent for not telling
and berserk half-empty saviors still learning that
it’s hard to do a rain dance with an umbrella in your hand;

preach brooklyn; whisper manhattan;
shelled ghosts strike —
unsure whether fear is the sword or the stone;
viva la bedtime — few kids bother to sleep on their beds
most sleep under them with the monsters;

preach brooklyn, whisper manhattan,
it’s rock and roll all the time,
it’s vodka in flower vases — on full bookcases;
it’s sipping molotov cocktails
with a rag longer than friendships; slam,
in like a lion, out like a lamb.

Emmanuel Njomo Jr., Preach Brooklyn, Homeless

city nights, flashing lights, hollywood bright
reality-lite — the great maybe mighty might,

born to die, die to fly; dead immortals;
life, major domo to strife, a deus ex machina arena;
a wrinkled rectangle was all it was —
a distorted door — a liquor pour; a tangerine world; peel —

that ceiling fan just keeps wheeling man,
it spins with a tenth avenue attitude;
I am in orbit but disregard altitude,
bottomless but stuck on the ceiling,
crawling like a young wolf out of a snow bank;

there’s a conga drum on the tips of tongues
of those who speak in full color,
with dry eyes in a savage world,
on a mystery train,
reciting one word love stories
as they dance to music no one else can hear —
that is my rhythm — those are my tribe.

Emmanuel Njomo Jr., Deathcloud, Homeless

it don’t matter where you buy your clues
blues sing true, its all about that gutter green —
that ninja turtle ooze —

what I see: caramel color glass bottles
false idols, time goggles; a compromise within a compromise;
a dream within a dream within a nightmare within a dream;

fear strong like panther paws,
society constructs the oohs and ahhs;
bang, bang the fangs bang, bang the fangs — bang

gatling saplings set my butterflies free;
be more kind than moon light —
be the afro reaching for god
be the bored glitter; shine at rest

this suede night,
has me convinced the garden of eden
is on some brick building rooftop
and the portal is a book;

fear is the enzyme,
money is the catalyst,
treasure is for the trash man
average is an asterisk.

Emmanuel Njomo Jr., Little Princes, Little Boxes, Homeless

the world is yours,
the world is ours,
the world is hours,
devour hours
or the hours devour you —

scour through the slanted wisdom;
steal away like breath from lungs —
like words from tongues;

the world revolves around you revolving around the world —
so be selfish with your generosity;

the metro retro exposed the jungle of humble bumbles
and subtle knives, when the world is mouth, everything is teeth;
that speaks of salt water and unworthy basins;
the rocket science of violence, sticks and stones
and broken homes — words will never hurt me?

gorilla, gorilla,
come down from that tree,
gorilla, gorilla,
come learn to be free,

I’m sure if gorillas could talk they would ask us
why we’re not up there with them —
I’m sure they would ask how one learns freedom;
gorilla: ok, then after can you teach me to be happy?

love is weird, amen.

Emmanuel Njomo Jr., Inglorious Puddles, Homeless

the truth has always been about point of view —
your truth ain’t never gonna be nothing more
than what your view is pointing to;

hot sugar coming through, better move;
better move the electric you —
suck it up — your soul don’t bruise;

suffer the rhythm, this city; these bricks have teeth
and a throat and a tongue and a warrior’s heart,
they sing survival songs,
(we ain’t talkin no hokey pokey — we talking something ancient)
they chew up, they swallow you down to your sneakers,
they shout spoken word streetlight manifestos into the sky.

Emmanuel Njomo Jr., Shrine Bright, Homeless

I enter my outer mind outta time,
walking backwards through schizophrenic colors;
I’m falling but I feel so close to the ground,

closer than a gender fluid druid
laying down — skewered, by earth and mirth
and good time spirits —

universal truth has a zero sum;
it’s harder to see than a ninja at night;
this here is a hard way to live
but the best way not to die;

keep on pushing through the ichor of lies
understanding this world is something that only happens
when it’s sitting on your head —

we need lighthouses in the ghetto,
you see all these sunk love boats;
you see all these people drowning;
hope only floats for so long,
about as long as a corpse does.

Emmanuel Njomo Jr., Lighthouses, Homeless

the cure stay pure,
heroin heroes turn zeroes into deniros;
fires in winter — Spiro in Articuno — placebo sumo
gumbas with helmets; you can’t jump em, you can’t bump em —

did you burn it yet? that’s the tourniquet;
don’t run lights in sunlight; no vest, just chest —
Jesus pieces, suicide sashes;
botched it, swing swords, chasing the grail, eating nails,

in a zebra house, everything is black and white,
the stripes don’t keep away the parasites or scary sights;
staring slow at the stereo; leviathan air, broken heart,
society has us pulling our pieces from the ground like weeds;
ain’t nothing certain but curtains;
so be a psionic deathfire in person —

clarity is a rarity often found vicariously in parody; scarily,
the trojan horse’s course is forced one spoonful at a time,
from the hand to the mouth, from the mouth to the mind —
life is a grinder, a fault finder, and a be kinder rewinder
I wonder who designed her.

Emmanuel Njomo Jr, Grinder, Homeless

walking through that fire with a mean bop;
dodging robocop knee drops,
handcuffs and mop tops hollow;

this city is a sleepy swallow,
shopping carts rip art with small wheels —
do wrong to do good, so we poor, ain’t no winter,
just splinters and angry monks, void and abyss in car trunks;

innocence lost and found in alley ways,
calm chaos with discipline; a toast to savages;
dope; cope; hope; rope — everything comes with nooses.

pain found me like music seeking an ear,
words moved through me like blood in a vessel —
life is a series of echoes with scars

Emmanuel Njomo Jr., A Toast to Savages, Homeless