The High Heat

By Los Gigantes

The Emperor takes a bow, but he has no clothes. His vanity reeks of denial, yet his effervescence emits a heart of gold trapped in a cave. His stumbling blocks are sharp reminders of the price of perfection. As he becomes one with humility his finer qualities emerge, but at this point he is trapped in a whirlwind of destiny unraveling as he helplessly, but confidently catapults into the beginning of the end of the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664149403

Los Gigantes

Author Los Gigantes AKA JR Gamble, is a passionate poet, creator and journalist, capturing moments in time and sharing the intricacies, madness and magnificence of his journey through life. Buckle Up & Enjoy The Ride!

Book preview

MELTING PALM TREES

IN THE HIGH HEAT

Big Up To all the La Man Dem

I s there something on my forehead?

Cause it seems they take me for a joke

Their actions towards me provoke a feeling of contemplation, damnation,

shady ways and 40 paces

Fucking breaking bread then let’s smash faces!

And pumpkins

Whiff some glue and go dunkin’ for goats to fuck in a pasture

The first person castrated can’t be master

You think cause you gut ya’ weight up that my Billy club —

And Louisville Slug won’t tear ya’ marshmallow ass up.

I tell ya’. I got lots of discipline.

Tell em’ again. Tell em’ again.

Till the hatred’s gone and your dealings with human beings are sacred.

I was raised the family way.

I can’t apologize for the fact that I had love and influential ties.

It allowed my mind to trudge, truthfully to the quiver your broken heart might make

Before you stand and deliver

Suck up the losses

They don’t last too long anyway

Any day now, that new job seeps into the scenery

Just believe in the promise and soldier status you were blessed with

When ancestors and sisters, sardine-packed in slave boat decks awaiting decapitation at the neck

Foul odors, unable to wash or shit in comfort

They wallowed in their piss, vomit, spit and rat-drenched lumber.

Still finding the audacity to crack a grin and sing an old Negro spiritual hymn

So I can handle this shit

Dipping by these stop signs like every Benz is mine.

Spitting at the less fortunate will get yo’ ass caught in prime time.

Y’all like some seeing eye puppies

Seeing I dispense love, and coming back like you lucky

Race me up these stairs, that’s the competitive side in me

Better yet let me massage your mind, moving milliseconds with Hennessy

Then we can converse on this plan to make it happen

Whatever that means for those into backstabbing

How about making this happen

Focus fuckface.

I’m about three years a few felonies too late to rip that smile off your face

Clown.

Look at the hatred in me swelling up as I walk this trail of trife trials, trilogies and Black hockey pucks on white ice

It’s real though.

True for sho’.

To the Show I owe it all.

For my planet remains Black, despite those who don’t know how to act.

Lacking moral and mental fibers, flippantly, flopping, for famished flunkies

But I’m still happy, still bursting out snowfalls of guffaws

Picturing the audience in no draws

Not hunger

Not jealous peeps

Not crooked police

Not the government disease

Not peace pipes that make me weary

Can stop me.

I am original man.

Find my bones where they said no humanity roamed.

Dark ages my left nut and 12 gages.

Too old to give up now, and fresher than patent leather shoes on Easter.

The high heat seeker, speaker of truth

Burning ear, flaming heart believer

Love it or hate it

But respect the data, daringly disseminated to major flavors

In suburban equators, ghetto craters, country stations, Midwest papers or

Alaskan-snow in verbatim.

Release and debrief, get naked with me.

Don’t be embarrassed or hide from what you see

In the mirror, cracked or intact

Blue or Black

We’re all scarred, live large, poor and calmed

Wild and unalarmed, scared and harmed

Rich and delicious, disgusting and diminutive

In, out travels through life and finding meaning in what we live

BURNING FLESH,

IMPENETRABLE SOULS

Young, Black, Misunderstood…And Just Don’t Give A Fuck

W hen your life hits an abyss the mind drifts

The money dips into consistent shorts and survival becomes a sport

Selling the Lord’s skins to avoid sleeping on asphalt

Go from corporate simp to pimp

Dear Lord that gas can laying in the tub like a ticking time bomb

Exploding with the flick of a light switch and scorching ass like a 38 snub butt plug

A flash of light blinded my senses and reinvigorated the hidden pain of current circumstances

Shriveling in the high heat my tropical skin melted off the flesh like candle wax

More unfortunate maiming for an intoxicated demon

Caught in the struggle between celebrity and heathen

Regulated to no meaning and learning how to exist

As an irrelevant felon shooting semen with a resume that’s bleeding

And ambition that you can’t feed

I drive myself to the hospital

My exterior shell dripping and scorched with aftermath

Sunbathing in hell’s furnace

I can’t escape the pain or a destiny designed to challenge my mental and physical threshhold

The nurses wiped away my pride and dipped me in holy water

Revealing a shell of my former self

Or maybe just the reduce and rebuild realism of my existence

It went from promising to disasterous to criminal in an instant

A parallel universe collided with my truth system

And accomplished persistence at an age where I’m just gaining true wisdom

Immediately my growth was stunted as I entered a dime full of understanding

Who wasn’t pretty in the morning

It’s almost like a movie that’s played out in pain, pleasure and plight

The architect of journalistic Gin Rummy

Bandaged up like a mummy with second degree burns

That snatched physical perfection from me

Black as a plumb tree on bum street

It’s a tunnel of gook and weeds suppressing my need to breathe

And the drugs in me codeine, legally prescribed for a microphone fiend

This Florida nightmare unbearable heat

Hides the relief I receive at my estate with palm trees

They took it all from me before I could execute the dream

Now I’m on an IV with an eye to the streets

My body heeled faster than my brain recovery

Acid rain that smothers me

Absent is the brother’s keep

This arm wrestling thing I engage in Southern comfort that becomes Mississippi burning in me

The permanent scars are pretty in pink

With the ritual of scraping and taping

Medical relief

Therapy inflating the physical being and rescuscitating the vision that perhaps eluded me

I’m back on this plane to NYC with pictures of the bathroom blown to smithereens

Like balloons in a saloon shootout at High Noon in the High Heat

My mind’s consumed and hard work didn’t amount to gum under my shoe

I wear the scars of a life’s jail bars and a mind held captive by trauma

And ambition that refuses to evaporate

Like a hot streak down the drain of temptation, bigotry and rotten things

The