The DOT: Where dreams go to die
And people go to wait in line
Sit in plastic chairs for hours
Next to mr. homeboy
And some chick that never showers
I'd like to finish this poem,
But they just called my number
Peace out, Bitches.
Home boy thought he was a killer
Kept a necklace round his neck
In a villa near manila
A strange accurance
Small body found dead
Little homey died underneath the currents
Homeboy was sure of his assurance
A good swimmer
His name was probably Laurence
He was just a few feet from shore,
When this Alligator about six feet or four,
His eyes went wide, bug eyed and crazy
This is when it all got a little hazy
Joe of to the poky.
Joe off to the pen.
Joe of the booze wagon again and again.
Joe fit shased and sailing, three sheets to the wind.
Joe swearing and cussing.
Joe in the back seat.
Joe sits on wrists. fingers all numb.
Joe tossin his cookies. Joe real no count bum.
Joe know all the coppers
And breaks in the rookies.
"Hey rook" asks Joe " "can you loosen these up"
My hands been asleep since Henry was a pup.
Joe Bangles they call him and erbody knows.
That Joey cant get lit up and keep on his clothes.
Going back to the house.
Three hots and a cot.
and wild stories to tell.
slippers and tooth brush in an eight by ten cell.
Mr. Joe Bangles Dance.
Stainless steel bangles are accessory of choice.
It doesnt make you a man when you raise your hand and say look baby im bout to make you understand because she opened her mouth and used her voice and yall didnt agree or make the same choice doesnt make you a man when you go out cheat honestly homeboy you just accepted defeat you tell her your sorry there wont be a repeat she falls for your lies and all your deciet baby open your eyes and begin to see that hes not a man he truely is weak he'll try to cover it up by being all sweet he'll do things he never does like rubbing your feet and youll fall right back in when you need to retreat kuz no women alive deserves to be beat
Middle finger to the clouds,
Carson holding it from here on down,
So fly was at first class,
With fine models with a nice ass,
Yeah, Yea my leathers so soft,
Im a fat mother AHH!!
But ill still be a boss,
Then I sip on ciroc,
Dealing on the street and selling that rock,
Then we see the girls on the block,
We take em off the block to go and suck some cock,
Talk down baby you dont know about me,
Im a freazy freazy deaky homeboy up in the sheets,
You know me if I go to jail,
A mill of cash just to post my bail,
And I come back and im like what the hell?
Fuck you with a uppercase F,
Knowing me ill be like the best,
Once you see that come holla back,
I said im the best even when I rap
Rap X Slacks!
standing high atop
the place where he cashed his checks
armed with 5 gallons
a hero in a bottle
he foolishly fought
the flames of civil unrest
then the roof caved in
good intentions killed in vain
swallowed by the fire pit
days dressed in mourning
haunting the cemetery
tending her grave's grass
grieving guilty tears of loss
for the young daughter she had
she was too busy
caught up in "bargain's" frenzy
lost sight of her girl
her 12 year old was trampled
beneath the lust of looters
gasoline cans brought
to burn the local market
were beat back badly
chased away by baseball bats
a homeboy fire brigade
"This is our market!
The only one in the hood.
It ain't goin' down.
We saw the news on tv.
That shit ain't happenin' here."
tales of rioting
the worst and best in people
the leviathan rises
through the smoke, fire, and ash
an unjust verdict
for police brutality
can't we all just get along?
im happy for you
even if your not with me
thats pretty hard to say
and even harder to mean
since im still intoxicated
from your bodies potion
drank time and time again
while our bodies where in motion
the solution to my problems
my sunshine after the rain
i cant stand to see
this chump steal my shine
treating you like a queen
dammit that was my dream
those were my hopes
now swirling down the drain.
you know this isnt right
that fool dont hold you
tight enough like me
not realizing your worth
a value more than a fortune
like that symbol that continues
im stuck in that groove
infinity ill spend
pacing tryin to figure when
I can put another bid in
to try to make it right.
when homeboy hacks it up
give me a chance
to show my change
to right my wrongs
and soothe the pain
caused by foolish games
immaturity made me play
I see the error in my actions
and I vow they wont happen
cause I don’t want a repeat
no more tears of sorrow
from hoes that cant compete
who I thought had you beat
until that day I sit
with a fake smile
and my tongue bit
cause im happy for you
since he is good to my boo
even though I hate the vision
of you huggin that buffoon
him kissing your lips
I almost vomit thinkin that shit
but I love you to death
the most definite end
so for the sake of us being friends
ill pretend to be happy for you
OMG! my brother, is so destructive, he treats even a jewel like its rubbish
he is soo stubborn, he gets under my skin like sunburn, but in the end he's still my brother.
i wouldnt have in any other, why? cuhz he down for the fam like southern? lol
i realized people you can never govern but even currently as he proceeds to walking on the second story on his FREAKEN KNEES! i realize i must make a compromise that there might be something about me he doesnt agree with,, so lets avoid the conflict cuhz it looks like a slippery cliff,,, wtf is he doing upp there sounds like artillery ships and shit!!!, im about to throw this fit,, but my homeboy like na flames here smoke this spliff,, na NAGA my mind is a gift and you kn ow im trying to quit!,, witch brings me across the next subject,,, i suspect my inner demons which demoralize my drive to subside with most high take my closest friends minds for a joyride,,, undercover like a spy to poison my ambitions to stay sober im so bipolar, being high is mediocre but when mind is clear i tend to turn into that ogre,,,i feel as if all is hopeless,,, i live in the moment i live in the ocean,, i think my name is Joseph,, and i sleep on my best friend sofas,,, i dont know where this story is going, long as i continue typing i guess its my way of coping i guess its my way of invoking,,,,
Hello young person. I send this message to you in an effort to help you understand…the grave is cold. It’s lonely. It’s like a deserted land. Oh, I know too well the pressures you face. There are temptations out there you can’t help but embrace.
I thought the world owed me something, but I was soon to learn another lesson. No one could have prepared me for the suffering or some might say blessing.
I was about to suffer the consequences of my bad choices in life. People told me, but I never thought twice.
Until one day, I decided to ride out with my boys. I told my momma I loved her and I won’t trying to hear all her noise. I shut her down as I walked out of her house, not knowing my time was about to run out.
I jumped in the car and gave all my homies some dap. My homeboy turned around and said,”Hey, Nigga, I hope you are strapped.” I looked at him and said, “Son, you know I am down.” I pulled out my 9 and cracked a slight smile.
In the back of my mind I knew I was wrong, but as soon as the thought came it was quickly gone.
We rode a couple of miles until we stopped in front of this house. We all got out and started running our mouth. I guess I need to make a long story short. The one with the 9 was the one who got caught.
I caught one in the chest and one in the thigh. I could hear my boy’s saying, “Damn, he go die.” With bullets flying and people fleeing, in a matter of seconds I started losing my being.
Making a long story short…I am going to say it once again the grave is a cold, lonely, and deserted place. It is not your friend.
Here’s lies me in this cold and lonely place. I am sending this message to you from this deserted space.
• 40 chicken wings
• vegetable oil, for frying
• 1 cup butter
• 2 cups Frank's red hot sauce
• 1 tablespoon cayenne pepper
• 1/2 cup flour
• 2 tablespoons garlic powder
• 2 tablespoons onion powder
• 1 tablespoon cumin
• 2 tablespoons cajun seasoning
• 1 1/2 cups Walter's chunky blue cheese dressing
Combine flour, cajun seasoning, cayenne pepper, onion powder, garlic powder, and cumin in a bowl and mix well. Add a tablespoon of blue food coloring.
Roll each chicken wing in the flour mixture until well coated.
Fry the wings in the oil (about 10-12 at a time) for about 13 minutes, or until crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside.
Melt the butter in microwave or on stove top.
In a large bowl or foil pan combine the hot sauce and melted butter and mix well. Then add in the blue cheese and combine until the mixture is an even color and is like a creamy orange color.
When all wings are done, toss in the sauce.
Serve hot with blue cheese and celery for garnish. Place in a large square Tupperware and take to Ross Enchanted Park in Albuquerque
Sit next to the local drug dealer sitting on a bench under the large mesquite tree with the 'Climbing on trees is prohibited' sign. Say out loud, "Hmmm, Esse, estos candentes Cajún Cristal Azul Queso alas son tan buenos"/Hmmm bro, these Red-Hot Cajun Crystal Blue Cheese Wings are so fucking good. "Mataría por ellos."/I would kill for them. Then offer the dealer a 'free taste'.
When he reaches for the chicken wing tase the motherfucker on his "Jesus Is My Homeboy' neck tattoo with your 50,000 volt taser that you purchased at MGS Communications, Inc. 3505 Carlisle NE Albuquerque, NM 87110
When he's on the ground quivering like some hijo de puta, whisper in his ear, "Me cago en tus muertos./I shit on your dead relatives. The steal the dealer's supply of crystal meth, weed, angel dust, angel tears, blue sky blond, bazooka and black Russian. Also steal his 24 pack of Visine eye drops and his Costco membership card. Search his back pocket for his Sam's Club card. These cheap pendejos like to buy in bulk.
Sell all the shit to Ghost Town Trading and Boarding, 2864 St. Hwy 14, Madrid, NM 87195
Phone (505) 438-0094 and ask for 'Two Time Mike' (come on, you don't actually believe Mike make his money legit by selling crappy American Indian art and crafts, Jesus-fucking-Christ, the dude's got a bifurcated penis with like 30 peircings).
Buy a 1963 Chevy Impala Lowrider.
Get tweaked and run over a DEA agent who's been looking too closely at your sheet. Use your Lowider but don't dent it!
Back up and run over him again until he stops that annoying twitching thing.
Celebrate the agent's timely demise with a combo mel of Red-Hot Cajun Crystal Blue Cheese Wings, Crystal Blue Cheese Coleslaw, Crystal Blue Margarita and Crystal Blue Ices you learned to make from the Baking Bad Cookbook.
Repeat as often as necessary.
If busted call Saul.
If Saul's been busted ask for Seymour Goldberg at Imhoff & Associates. Make sure you get their 10% off internet special. Call (866) 657-0770. Say Saul Goodman sent you.
If Seymour can't help you, you'll probably be selling a cell with pissed off 'Two Time Mike' or the mucho loco drug dealer you jacked at Ross Enchanted Park. Karma's a bitch, ain't she...
Baking Bad Cookbook: Crystal Blue Margarita
Baking Bad Cookbook: Crystal Blue Ices
Baking Bad Cookbook: Crystal Blue Cheese Coleslaw
For my related New Mexico piece (I really did live there for 2 years) please visit:
The True Demographics of Santa Fe
For my crystal meth junkie piece please visit:
Romeo's Crystal Meth Lullaby (Poetry Slam Audience Favorite)