your delivery was flawless when you told me the news

like you’d been every inch of the seventeen mile hike in my shoes


you said

daddy’s dead

and it won’t be long son before you die too



so i grabbed my shiny forty five

took my coat off the chair and sighed

"it’s gonna be a long night for me too"



and i turned to look momma in the eyes

but she just hung her head and cried

"someday i know you’ll find truth"



so i kissed momma on her cheek and left

closed the door and headed west

stumbling, trying to shake these blues



i got an old leather jacket, almost all the nails to my casket

i keep in my pocket

just for fun.



and when I’m done deciding, I’m tired of lying

to myself

I'll grab those rusty nails

one by one           and  exhale

and hammer my blues away.

a poet doesn't live in here


just a hallowed wreck


woe is me ... all that ****

i only want respect


a blind man couldn't see him

so he thought he was a farce


stumbling down flashlight paths

taking to himself in the dark

whispering all the sick things  she would have liked to hear

screamed silent lullabies about the brutal world of fear


a poet doesn't live here

just a 17 year old's self esteem

little boy's riots and life-long bad dreams


i wanted to pain you a picture

dead bodies on trampolines

smiles on their faces...


know what i mean?


i wanna cut my heart out

black dead and cold

and give up what's left of

my shattered dustpan soul,


this whole thing for me

was like pulling teeth

slowly twisting one by one

and gargling gasoline,


a poet doesn't live here

he's all dried up inside

and summer's come

it's time for fun, no more time to write.

i got pockets full of pages i write out at night,
paragraphs and phrases
in my fists, tied tight

i got bundles of friends i can count on one hand,
want quarter pounds and ounces but will settle for a gram,

i could fill a wal-mart parking lot with lost memories,
and build a staircase to the moon
out of the broken pieces of the me i'll never be,

it'd be a wobbly mess of fear and grief,
and once it's done i'd be able to breathe,

i got a pair of brass knuckles,
made out of hate,
a million shiny blue balloons,
filled up with rage,  

need to tie them together and float that **** away,

once it's in the atmosphere the balloons will slowly begin to pop
slowly falling back to earth free of all they caught.

and there will be little James,
with the black tooth grin,
waiting to sink them teeth into whatever trouble he can get in.