My memories are alphebetized and filed in steel cabinets
But at least I've never paid taxes.
These tracks rack my heavy head,
And with consistancy of lose lead I find I make my bed
Eastward and upward and moving forward feels back asswards
And not only have my once-loved-ones forgot their own adivce...
They let street rats dine, dash and flash feces like crack rocks.
School of the soft-knox they bare qualities close to the itch of a chicken pock.
Rockin' failure in the lines on their faces, I've placed this between I and U,
These steel tracks rack, my, how the time does fly when
You've never paid taxes.
And I'm dusting off files close forgotten,
Tucking rotten ones behind other cold cases
Using laughter to mock roofed and mute traces of
Never more and here we go again.
But if only! If only the woodpecker croaked!
Jokes pried from pedestals marked "short lived" -
Six suicides long and my hometowns *** is wound so tight
It actually drops diamonds. of course in spite of this
The majority spit is ****.
Misery takes to masses, foul stench latched, snatched,
Roofed and mute and at least I've never paid taxes.

(Written 3/12)

Cut the forget-me-knots.
Dot the t's and cross your eyes;
My balance is a flight-risk.

I knew swindlers of used expressions,
Their attempts: relentless!:
Plucking and picking at taunt silouettes.
Close calls splintered by tall tales.

I held on by the skin of my teeth.

Swindlers with twisted policies
Racked on the broken back burner.
They got scare tactics
Slipping fast from mal-practice.

We we're born to withstand such turbulance
But just in case- i fasten my seatbelt.
Knees bent and heartfelt,
I render these empty spaces moldable.
Heavy minutes move mountains.

Little boy blue beat the big bad wolf
And balance is always a flight-risk.

(Written 4/12)

My family begins at the end of a puppet's string
Hanging from giant hands.
Controlled movements make for misconceptions
And dangerous contemplations.
The puppeteer's whimsical remedies
Play on the years we've spent standing in quick sand.

My family begins at the bottom of the ocean,
Fed potions by mystical sea creatures.
This show features fallacies lost in forgotten tragedies.

My family ends in the Earth's atmosphere,
Gearing up for outer space we begin to face our worst fears.
Growing older, we've either put the show on hold or
It's weighing on our shoulders like heavy boulders.
The Earth quakes as we take off to places with no names.
And yet... we're still attached at the hands and feet with puppet strings.

(Written 6/10)

Bare in mind every hair-splitting detail:
Giving up was growing up.
Retail prices of bail bonds, re-told crises turned stories
Have gotten old so we painted the white roses red
Instead of trite and true head-loss.
Blah Blah brain trama drama, tears for dear old mama
Mean-time spent
While we've met cross-breeds with clarinet reeds
Never shoved down tiny child throats.
Too fat to fly.
Too fat to ****.
Hook -- one for the money.
Line -- two for the show.
Sinker -- three to turn back and tinker with hands as toys.
Cut out and crafty make-shift girls with faulty gills
Flop and flail on glue-covered decks next to
Peeled and punched newspaper clipped boys.
Giving up was growing up.
Moving on, and I'm still growing up.

(Written 3/12)