Poem Beginning with Nas & Ending in a Lover’s Mouth

If I ruled the world, 
nobody’s mother would die. 
Always arms would be there to catch
every falling child. 
This is my poem, and I can make what I want
of it. I don’t need an audience; I need 
six gallons of gasoline, a book of matches, 
two machetes, more time, a large mirror, 
a list of witnesses—OK, I need an audience—no, 
I need co-conspirators with their own 
list of needs & I need an infrastructure 
where we can always find one another striking 
items off each other’s lists. 
I’ve already abandoned 
this as a poem. It’s just a line-broken, 
voice-to-text transcription I whisper to my device 
as I make my way to a credit
bureau. I believe in one thing only:
when you want something bad you dance for it, 
but you gotta get loose with what you call dancing. 
Isn’t there some rhythm always bustling 
my muscles from their boredom? 
Don’t I find my name tumbling 
out a lover’s mouth?