I've been to
a place where
the hobos have
no soul
where everything's
jaded
tainted,
bought
with the cost
of a dream,
where ****** cry
plastic tears,
where fears
rule people,
like Caesar over
Rome; like turf
In the
Astrodome.

Oh someday,
someday baby,

we'll all be
home

Beneath the dark clouds, the
wheat blows gently on the farm.
I lie in bed and think about all
the loud farm machines that
will whirl into action at daybreak.
But tonight, as always,
silence is my best friend.

One of my
earliest memories is
of afternoons in
the backyard, standing on
a wrought iron chair that
was painted
lime green.
My creativity was feral
The paint was peeling,
And the sun beat down
upon me.

I was 5 years old.
and the Genesis of my
writing career began.
Below my chair was a plastic
swimming pool filled with water.
I sang leaving on a jet plane  I
I understood pathos,
and plot, and melancholia.
In my mind, I was a man
leaving a woman.
As I jumped into the pool
I could smell loneliness.
And I understood the
descent, the separation,
the sadness.

And in my little life,
and in my big heart,
under that hot July sun,
The poet was born.

I had just came
out of an AA meeting.
I looked to the
west, and spied a
mother cat with
a litter of kittens.
Little ***** of fluff,
running and jumping in
the tall grass,
unaware of the
danger that lurked.
A large black and white
Tomcat eased his way
up on one of
the kittens.
The tiny one arched its
back and hissed,
trying to be brave.

Male cats **** the
kittens so that
the female will go into
heat sooner,
and then he can
mate again.
He's a born killer,
living to ****.

As I walked towards him,
I thought to
myself, why can't cats
be like penguins?
The father helps raise the
little ones, and they
mate for life.
Why can't nature
have morals?
He was nose to nose
with the baby, when I said,
"Go on, get out of here."
He walked slowly, and then
turned and tried to come
back toward the kitten.
I put my hand on
his side and pushed him.
I stomped my feet and he
sulked away for
the time being.
He'll be back.

It ****** me off
and made me sad.
I thought of Caligula and
Roman empires,
and felines of all breeds.
The *** drive,
human and animal,
has its brutal side.

The saddest place I've
ever seen, is looking
out the window and
watching the rain fall
again on the
green Meadows...
Thinking about,
what might have been.

Another lunatic trip to
the hospital.
Nine days, this
go around.
For the first two
days, I just pulled
the covers over my
head and pretended I
was back in the womb.
It was warm and safe.
As much as I
wanted to stay,
I knew it was time to
be reborn into this
strange world of
sick streets, and
broken dreams.