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Language Arts Unit

by Rhys Langston

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  • Cassette + Digital Album

    Featuring alternative artwork and analog fuzz to provide as much warmth as you need, come these rarities from the Estate of the Lord Chocolate in collaboration with P.O.W. Recordings: cassette tapes of Rhys Langston's album and multimedia project "Language Arts Unit."

    Includes unlimited streaming of Language Arts Unit via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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  • "Language Arts Unit: A Rap Textbook" is an exploration of rap as theory and praxis, race as form and content, music as social mobilizer and opiate. In a winding, discursive prefatory note Rhys Langston (Podell) utilizes a biting, absurdist humor to seriously appraise the power of words, music, and all manner of extra-lingual connotations in the age of rapid-transit information technologies. As the written half of a multimedia project, what follows are the lyrics from his long play album, written as poems with the clever enjambment of his characteristically idiosyncratic wordplay.

    [includes a URL to download full album]

    Length: 104 pages
    Publisher: Black Market Poetry
    Size: 6"x 9"
    ISBN: 978-0-578-22962-1
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      $17 USD or more 

     

1.
“after about an hour of this frightfully difficult literary labor, he fell to the floor exhausted. we saw him creep, feebly, into the nest of the poems which are always there. so that all this work had not been in vain, we made an examination” it’s the poet-swordsmith [of] Baldwin Hills-Crenshaw Mall, hits but with the shammgod, dangles phrasing like car alarms it’s the poet-swordsmith [of] Baldwin Hills-Crenshaw Mall, spoken soloist, three filled notebooks all ajar it’s the poet-swordsmith[of] Baldwin Hills-Crenshaw Mall, hits but with the shammgod, dangles phrasing like car alarms it’s the poet-swordsmith [of] Baldwin Hills-Crenshaw Mall, spoken soloist, three filled notebooks all ajar I became a brown man in Los Angeles on a magazine cover, man-of-color-mumbled through an interview then fumbled, my line of scrimmage down and out counting inches, became a Black man downtown with a u-turn in the business district between my verse and spurned romantic interests whereas certain phone numbers now have become prison jumpsuit digits, I’m on a cell reverse translating my tweets in techno-yiddish, while I lament solipsism as a well-educated happy idiot you never met a wordsmith more illiterate, reclaimant of ride share privileges, unemployment benefits, and breadline manuscripts, who makes a mean sautéed spinach, that plate of wine-reduced predilections, that visage akin revisionist stone-faced grimace (like what?) of the strong silent typography, apocryphal Olmec and circumspect to get hemmed denim wet spit the rawest paroxysms to focus groupers in headphones I’m in the gutter club slanging clichés the same way a dictionary rents out ad space to price human emotion and contemporary art, in the gallery as an attendant and as a pedant I’m a synonym to [sic] an off-camera Petrarchan rant, like like like like fuck it, we’ll do it live rewrite the verse from first stanza, top to bottom, right to left, just to just to just to just to just to get a rise it’s the poet-swordsmith [of] Baldwin Hills-Crenshaw Mall, hits but with the shammgod, dangles phrasing like car alarms it’s the poet-swordsmith [of] Baldwin Hills-Crenshaw Mall, spoken soloist, three filled notebooks all ajar
2.
shouts out to U.S.V.I. (what up) full staffed, knee taken was drought tolerant flag spread, pole poking my bio-politick left my theory at that pipeline, school was prison discourse niacin in vitamin my breakfast choice each morning woke up spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered each morning woke up spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered [CHORUS] I spread eagle for the governor’s water glasses (spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered) [x3] I spread eagle for the governor’s water glasses (water, water, water, water, water, water, water) spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered, each morning woke up, check for FEMA flood’s lines on the foyer, X on the principal, door directed deposit, material benefit liminal for four score and ye olde yore posted no bills, meddlesome weeks’ deals, futures on meals on wheels local produce, a metaphor for irony still, ‘cause we were shipped in to front the bill [CHORUS] I said my brother was a rolling stone, I was a Standing Rock, everyday pops came home and popped that Rolling Rock he Marshall Planned his Glock, cleaned it with his TV dinner, only Black cop to join the blocking line that electoral winter facing down the First Nation, all seconds, safeties ready to empty the chambers, aquifers languid and tepid shrugs at state-sanctioned danger: tears protest gas, ICE, yeah, money anger (spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered) shouts out to that young god Chaac that made them clouds pop, condensed our percentage into droplets to fall on our flock, cut out the beating heart and laid it in the pyramid top yeah, do that to lawmakers so we can reap crops, harvest redlined agribusiness, on subsidized blocks, hot swiping cards for a single use plastic, acronyms fail to mention yo, this water ain’t elastic [CHORUS] I was lead to the content of these pipes (spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered) I was lead to the content of these pipes (spread eagle) I was lead to the content of these pipes (spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered) I was lead to the content of these pipes (spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered) I was lead to the content of these pipes environment, our own terror site I was lead to the content of these pipes (spread eagle, yeah, beleaguered) I was lead to the content of these pipes, became a victim to my own rights by their own right
3.
[Rhys Langston]: eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas, blue light of instruments came from Texas, it’s said that great change to spawn from the elections, but sitting on electric fences don’t feel much like a welcome— head, shoulders, knees, toes head, shoulders, knees, toes head, shoulders, knees, toes my brother’s colonists with a candid photo wading in the water of the soup of the metrics, skin tone as an as-needed hat trick, family from the old and the new world ghettos, oppression olympics medaled in mementos my man Solar said we the splash on the canvas, pilgrim in the freight car bellowing “so it goes,” up on the pedestal with a brushstroke, so I guess I’m the kosher Black gesso then— (eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated) still to rise, staid in waiting for the moment that I blow, etched a selfie on the front of the claymore, combust a musty gesture of drawings of past pentimentos I don’t see how I should pay for this wall that hinders me, respectfully gone deep in their non-binary pussy, I was a drawbridge before now nondisclosure to agree still to rise, staid in waiting for the moment to hold all the smoke, alone in two-way mirrors to share and self-promote, thinking in an outside voice, a skinny hunk of flesh of outside jokes I don’t see this prescription of ethics over this lamb over rice, rationalizing never done saying the same thing twice, piecing a detritus self back for Jamal Khashogghi I am not the Michael Jordan of Delaware, (eyes dyed in saturated retinas) might be a partial jurist, (eyes dyed in saturated retinas) I am unenthused to be looking laissez-faire in that vanity mirror, (eyes dyed in saturated retinas) when it comes to miscegenating between art forms (eyes dyed) I’m a purist [Chester Watson]: Move like a genie in smoke, Nipsey and Ras G in my toast, and 2019 been a coaster, think of my mortality as I coast and lately been channeling ancestors so forgive if you see me with ghosts me and Rhys, LSD, and some doja, all the times that I been to the ocean and still haven't smoked weed on a boat I need property with a moat on some king shit, never vibed with the mean kids, OGs like "what you mean kid?" guess I'm too far out towards the deep end, but far enough where I'd sink in, let it sink in, your world could change as you're blinking— [Rhys Langston]: eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated eyes dyed in saturated retinas eyes dyed in saturated ______________________ light-skinned n[]gg[] on the dark web, GoPro on the pole arm, megapixel minuscule, refracting the side arm in portrait mode punch a crypto-fascist in the throat, esophageal armistice in silo, bleach blonde endangered rhino memes on the radio, gruel in my cup, double styrofoam half-life of a video star binged, upchucked this that art rock with a ransom note through a corner office window I want all the fire, and the brimstone, and the fucking smoke
4.
“you soon will be a goddamn man, now start learning what life is about now son” [CHORUS] “get smacked ‘cause you’re blue Black, throwback to welts and twist naps, ’n[]gg[],’ you ain’t allowed to say that, light-skinned with choice to format, “dark-skinned but, yeah, momma passed, crossed the Ward, swept faberge glass “born in that white hospital but they transferred her and I in the moment when crowned my Black ass” called my grandfather for connections, megabytes per second cousin I dialed tone when I breathed in and felt my own baggage rushing I hung up and slumped over that chair, staring at that gradient between forearm and the thigh meat, the pale yellow dimmed radiance as if time was the only gulf between us, continuity and through-line sequence medley, bevy of poly-genes silk-printed just to rerun mitochondria, yeah, fitted and colloquial, some preshrunk embodiment, and all the credentials for a tailor fitting qualified postmodernists [CHORUS] Write my own way out of a brown paper bag club, race as form and content, across a continent blood ties fists gripped in blackened love I remember those sunny afternoons out basking just to darken my skin, comment section effigies of my peers scrolling minds in tandem metrics, lines, self-spurred another scientist with google image case study basis: inherent blackness, intrinsic research, a doubt of predetermined 31 flavors (sample size per serving, just a feast of the eyes, intersections of what swatches seem to serve and surmise) with some stubbornness as intuition or attrition attributed to affinity for new scriptures sketched in books and doodled verse reliefs, Black-marked whiteness prescription lobbying minds to some greater prophetic margins two parallel lines for an abstract starting [CHORUS] “soft curls on my neck flap caress she’d tell me and scratch, ‘yeah, boy you look like me but only back there where them good genes at,’ “brother and sister took after, we shared features but the pigment masked us” [CHORUS] crawfish étouffée in my census identification written on the back of an SUV double-parked, a New Orleans gas station knee-length grass roots with storm swept down to the foundation, charitable body’s [family] records given to the gulf as a donation “word,” of mouth, I remarked as the portraits I’d yet to see they met a watery fate, sweeping the bayou sweat from my sun-yellowed perplexing pate I’d yet to contemplate where does this history start (no, really)? and if memory by its very nature is its own form of art.
5.
Big Rhys 05:13
I’ve saved these memories on blocks: to come of age in the Arathi Highlands with my Guilty Sparks, ethernet-linked systems to controller hands he taught me inverted, yeah, my Plum dog was the main cohort in that digital-to-analog K-8 bookended by volumes of all the EB Games trade-ins and when we snaked through Sotheby’s just toe the line, and I hugged your mom the last time those days of Nightfire and Azeroth— so go, video my soul, ‘cause this was so real, so real and no rush to record, ‘cause I’m just trying to feel and I can’t deal match made for an oddball, holding on until the time expires to load up an old file is an old flame that sparks harmonics on a heartstring, you’ll see it’s worthwhile suggestion of a trial to find perchance a reduction of basic elements through a concourse of past times rendered worlds drawing through-lines and stuttered sights, I stand, firmly anti-aliased to rewind these games have brought clear resolutions and bleary tears graphical engines upgrading as I doubled in years, and it’s strange, they’ve given me so much language, strange how all these moving parts saved for my own arrangement still I feel myself anchored, crazy as it sounds, I feel myself anchored 12 years-old, docked in Seyda Neen, my vocal chords now to express this straining: the first time I saved face on a cartridge 5 years-old there was moaning in a burning library, strafing on a Blockbuster-rented Leon Kennedy on CRT with barely read ESRB Big Rhys on Lyric Avenue between alimony and Tracy generations of consoles to console private confirmation hearings, Marty O’Donnell soundscapes and West Gash symphonies go, video my soul, ‘cause this was so real, so real no rush to record, ‘cause I’m just trying to feel and I can’t deal now now, the Full Frontal Incumbent thought nothing of it, akin to something of an electoral puppet, same script on the notarized budget: an author’s note to a book of rhymes made public to obfuscate that collection of overly-abstracted raps he takes a momentary lapse, dips the pen inside an inkwell dwelling on the right reference to sentimentalize a whole past well untaxed turns back with mindful inhalations, citing source awards with conflagrations now rejoicing with congratulations for what moments of childhood are recorded and then stored see well, an imaginary shoulder would hark here here, to tip a solemn head a little there there, circumnavigating fetal innocence, transpositions octaves of a younger life to somewhere more free and bare (like what?) go, video my soul, ‘cause this was so real, so real no rush to record, ‘cause I’m just trying to feel and I can’t deal I’m documentarian, baby full definition. ______________________ Flood session, pizza, picture, essen, retracing sketches about another epoch: after school flexing, index’s the weapon, information passed to guild raiders and brethren. Caravan to Karazhan, tank buffed by power-words, interior defended (unseen, unheard). Stadium Arcadium bumped through Wet Sand Gateways, unfurled through curls, braces, farmer’s tans, race bait. Jumps out of the gym into punk bedrock, niche in silent cartography, maps drawn, written plots, pixel polyglot, ravenous mind, stomach, stopped decibels for gendered interaction, noiseless pundit. Fuck kid—
6.
Moziah: well, you know, the KKK is making great strides. you know, I’m a fellow member myself, fellow chapter grandmaster dragon, 32nd degree, in Mississippi, hell, anyhoo. you know, I was thinking about the KKK, and we’re making some great strides. we’re now accepting Black members and Mexican members, still no Arabs, but you know we’re really trying to keep it going. if niggers wanna go back to Africa, well hell, go back to Africa. we liked Marcus Garvey. we, you know, we were his biggest supporter. you know, KKK, we’re doing alright. and on that note I gotta git— [CHORUS] thrust of the memos thrust of the memos thrust of the proceeding thrust of the proceeding thrust of the memos (thrust, thrust, thrust) thrust of the memos thrust of the memos thrust of the proceeding thrust of the proceeding thrust of the memos (thrust, thrust, thrust) my domestic terrorism wears Swedish tennis player Jesus necklace for intersection my domestic terrorism wears Swedish tennis player Jesus necklace for intersection my domestic terrorism wears Swedish tennis player Jesus necklace for intersection my domestic terrorism wears Swedish tennis player Jesus necklace for intersection my domestic terrorism wears an AR-15, hats to make America made in China make itself a great maker again my domestic terrorism buys said bore arm half-off last mental check-up station my domestic terrorism calls free trade’s origins in slavery post-racial my domestic terrorism is syndicated, fiber-optic, distributed through cable [CHORUS] caged in mylar we float checkpoints just joined at the ankle monitor passing ports for verifications and photos, toast ICE dangles still from the registry the thrust of the memos is an abstraction for replete liberty drunk driving doctrines, an estranged line breaks formation, then divorced history our domestic terrorism wears a single band of tarnish, unpolished family film birthed sovereignty and a warm embrace of mythos it privatizes gains and socializes televangelist separatist statecraft, all-inclusive in the ethnostate flash and hate bath when in Rome do as the subaltern do and kneel fast [CHORUS]
7.
clock ticks are irrelevant, settlement, the present tense deed is an exegesis with a felt-tipped rhetoric, scratch and sniff these ashy palms smoking desert kiss placebo christened with that flick of the wrist I’ve been in sediment of the epoch’s layers deep, carbon copy of my like page’s physique, a play count as oblique, all scriptures written cut out of my abdomen and sewn back with Rap Genius caesarian annotation marginal status with the noose in the lattice, unconscionable praxis, theoretics on my axis spin cycle raining high heavens on my mattress, drool-stricken mornings waking up to crusted mouth fractures. forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all these scriptures all sense spent on well wishing forgive me for all— forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all these scriptures all sense spent on well wishing forgive me for all— forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all— I know I won’t be recognized today I’m a plot device, dim foil headdress refracting upon the headlights, curved dialogue when protagonists sleep I’m still up at night framed in unbeknownst but rehearsed speech, crushed dolomite reading rights to obsequious pardons of French exits when mornings become apoplectic and slept-on electronica fills a vacuum I seek the circumspect, keep my eyes wet in this moving traffic fishbowl my optics are shifted 24 hours in length to catalogue droll not an allegory to [sic] better circumstances, a drip-line gushing, missing pair of blood lancelets, but a metaphor to [sic] elementary probabilities, second chances spun on Quixotic windmills, an allusion to a minor key, but an anaphora to [sic] a trudged speed, a permit to [sic] that concealed weapon. I am my own epinephrine. I’m an inverted apostrophe addressed to no possession, a series of quotations attributed to bold-faced irrelevance. forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all these scriptures all sense spent on well wishing forgive me for all— forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all these scriptures all sense spent on well wishing forgive me for all— forgive me for all these scriptures forgive me for all— I know I won’t be recognized today As I bolt my head up to rise in this time trial, I humbly seek significance quantifiable in numbers, that one of import may walk through turnstiles and recirculate my thoughts most worthwhile for those in action of insights, audience, and reach. I ask forgiveness for all these scriptures, all sense spent on well wishing, minute hands holding hours, self-immolating auto-da-fés in the shower. In the name of the non-gendered parent, offspring, and all-encompassing spirit of WiFi, I do ask and beseech.
8.
[CHORUS] poet laureate of my living room poet laureate of my living room poet laureate of my living room poet laureate of my living room elephant in the hallway, poet laureate of my living room, dripping trunk snot, down-talking the TMC in Khartoum the nebbish Frederick Douglass feeling peckish, techno-yiddish scribbled with a pencil, vestibule, a threshold of lectures, lectern as he raps all the measures reclaimant on the bidet, shoeless pedant, yeah in the dining room, on hands and knees with a genuflect, trademarks phenotypes with Legal Zoom raps in fugues, sestinas, Prussian Blue iambs begrudges antifa farmers market luncheon, yeah, hair parted like a truncheon Huey P, à la carte, à la mode Hebdo in the drawing room sketching prophets in the margins, dry humping scripture, yeah well, on a full moon pre-fab in the 9th house, flipping-flopping in a gender neutral blouse, abstract verse just to out-joust, just to out-joust [CHORUS] peanut butter Sandy Koufax spitting cold facts in the cryochamber, no hitter, eight figures rejoined with words, syntax spinning like an Escher spitter eschewing monochrome delusions, every step and footprint a Black realist movement, expanding bibliography for the duration of the Uber talking shop, chewing lipids, liquid diet sans pill-form stock nonfiction, placebo freelance eccentric evidence of a pre-screened well goal post postgrad diction with a PR firm over my thumb, facial recognition, yo, on the upswung, downsized, upsold solid-state wheezing like just another iron lung “partate the bars,” says the Creole Voltaire, 23 back-up discs, yeah, in the time-share, single lyric sheet for each sector and hemisphere with a reading fee so laissez-faire sitting mid-vacation deloused, bouncing .wav files, yeah, surfing on a couch, poet laureate of my living room, bed and breakfast, yeah, in a random house motherfucker [CHORUS] “ohh, get up or get out the way! I might be in the studio or something, but I’m still getting hype!” welcome to Langstónia…
9.
[a short story by Muckraker Jones] incredibly Black and extremely eccentric! Incredibly Black and extremely eccentric… (but where, but where, but where, but where??) incredibly Black and extremely eccentric in Eugene, Oregon, post-show brunch talking that Eugene Onegin, so goes the heir apparent Pushkin, sunlight, an envelope filter before he cuts out with his fortune then continuing to prattle on, onus is the next mea culpa college town where they plant and nurture seedlings, outrage farm, see even the parking ticket was organically sown split the $50 difference from them usual citations: footnotes, toenotes, Afro-centric in no sandals lately, lathe-cut to disrupt, Portland in the cut, snapping photos, soundcheck, self-loather emeritus after performance de-centered from the whiteness, bearable lightness watching Insecure with the finest genuine women, platonic couch surfers upstream in a ’99 La Saber swimming just the pale Black negative Jason Mantzoukas, Dutch Bros, 5-North, roses and tulips, grandest delusions, yo, went to Bend, Oregon and found the sound of silence in audience movements in Corvallis she reached for my what? (no, stop, no) onto the next few days, yo up the border verily, Blacked out bookings amplified group therapy incredibly Black and extremely eccentric! (in Oregon) Incredibly Black and eccentric! Incredibly Black and extremely eccentric…
10.
You know what I’m saying? I feel like I could really do this forever. I don’t know. I don’t know. You know what I’m saying? yo, this that ardent cultural marxist hopping out the fucking starship in explicit FCC discourse, yeah, marching in electoral offices to the apartments, bicoastal elite feeling some type of glorious yo, this that Earl Sweatshirt type beat (oh my god), yo, this that overthinking type sack of meat, well, talking to ya been off the Internet as of late, so maybe a little more truth (real talk), yeah the hangman hungover in the blanks writing after the shots and shooters saying I could rap forever, but I won’t (I won’t, I won’t) only until the moment in which my epitaph got a blue check on it, and bears a likeness of a rapper archetype in the form of sonnet saying I could rap forever, but will you hear?
I could rap forever, but will you hear me? while the economy is being automated out, my negro I’m fucking out; while everything seems to be going down south, I’ma stay right here and use my mouth, case in point like (check one, two, like ok, yeah, ha!): yo, this that ardent cultural marxist hopping out the fucking starship (two times!) clocked out at the happiest hour that can be afforded when your microphone bag happens to be your wallet, when no man is the island that tax brackets use to funnel dollars well, this that over-his-head- archipelago-flow-syntax, great garbage patch of my personality, yeah, fully intact, the extinct elephant in the room authorizes no authority or apps that’s the wrong kind of twist like intellectual white people dreadlocks taking naps I could rap forever, but will you hear?
I could rap forever, but will you hear me? I could rap forever, but will you hear?
I could rap forever, but will you hear me? “and now a bright young comic” [Serengeti]: Davis Deacon, Deacon, Deacon speaking freaking leaking: one time I ate chicken wings and I, I, I, I, I, I was on a cruise ship. hey hey, yo, what’s up, this is me Dave, shout out to my man, Deacon Dave. hey! hey! calm it down, pipe it down, take a shower, take a shave, take a walk, take a nap, take another shower, take another shave, come back home, take a shave, take another shower, calm it down, pipe it down, calm it down, calm it down! [Rhys Langston]: I could rap forever, but will you hear?
I could rap forever, but will you hear me? I could rap forever, but will you hear?
I could rap forever, but will you hear me?
11.
speak up, yes speak up speak up, yes speak up, speak up waking up to tea, take the caffeine, why can’t I sit down? (no, no, no, no, no, no, no) waking up to tea take the caffeine, why can’t I sit down? (no, no, no, no, no, no, no) double booked, bagged, and 10 minutes steeped, I said, “this mind is mine to keep” though regaled from the point of sale to your effigy, no social receipts I can’t seem to bend my knees or to fold 90 degrees: a layman lying on a public dais, spurt open valves in Ignatius speech another morning pot of tea that blend you gave to me, steamed I drunk it all like a monarch blank verse leered with whitened teeth sovereignty— a full theatrical release, promotions well canonized now, the unraveling performance of some unclear love poetry waking up to tea, take the caffeine, so can’t I sit down (no, no, no, no, no, no, no) double booked, bagged, and 10 minutes steeped, I said, “this mind is mine to keep” though regaled from the point of sale I think that’s cool man. It’s little like a little interlude…

about

a rap textbook of textbook raps coloring outside the lines. theory and praxis as theory as praxis. the erudite and the cool. the gradient of styles bearing colloquial wisdom.

[download includes full 104 page e-book]

~~~~~~~~~~~

credits

released February 26, 2020

All songs written, composed, produced and performed by Rhys Langston except:

"The Governor's Water Glasses"- Produced by alexanderrrowland

"Eyes Dyed In Saturated Retinas"- Featuring additional writing and vocals by Chester Watson

"Big Rhys"- Featuring scratches by IYASA, additional vocals by Aissa

"Thrust of the Memos (My Domestic Terrorism)"- Featuring additional writing and vocals by Moziah, additional vocals by Aissa

"Incredibly Black and Extremely Eccentric (in Oregon)"- Produced by kató

"I Could Rap Forever"- Produced by alexanderrrowland, featuring keys by The Roswell Universe, additional writing and vocals by Serengeti, additional vocals by Aissa

"Ignatius Speech"- Produced by LXMONGRAB

Recorded by Derek Sturman at the Swaglife Universe (Monterrey Park, CA), November-December 2017, and by Ch. Davis at the Black Market Poetry Bureau of Internal Affairs (Los Angeles, CA), January 2018-May 2019

Mixed by Rhys Langston
Mastered by Dave Cooley

Cover Painting and Design by Rhys Langston

© POW Recordings / Black Market Poetry / Rhys Langston Podell

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Rhys Langston Los Angeles, California

From smoked salmon to freshwater microphones.

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