on the puke and blood painted
walk in front of a Juarez *******
sat a blind mendicant,

his cup half full with pesos, pennies
and a grand FDR dime or two

beside him a cur loused in lassitude,
perhaps the personal, impotent Cerberus
for this den of five dollar iniquity

sixteen I was, an acute expatriate
from a drunken El Paso house home

free to roam the streets of old Mexico,
so long as I didn't wake any Policia
or **** on the wrong curb

an empty belly and nascent love of drink swung my moral compass
from wobbly to dead down

and I filched the eyeless beggar's blue tin

he couldn't see, but the jingle jangle of his coins sliding
into my pocket filled his old ears

"ladron, ladron, cabron, " he screamed

thief, thief, *******

his words trailed me down the alley into an avenue of neon noise,
until I slipped into a bar, nouveau riche

my ***** was better than a buck so I ordered two beers
and a double tequila

feeling fine until I smelled the dung of the dog,
scribed penance in the grooves of my Keds

olfactory justice for stealing from the blind; a small price to pay
for the riches of drunkenness, the sweet taste of oblivion

(Juarez, Mexico, 1965)

i never thought i'd make it this far.
let's start with that.
i never thought i'd have someone look me in my eyes and tell me they're in love with me and see such a bright future, with... me.
i never thought i'd live through all of the pain, agony, torture, slices and burns on my arms and legs, yelling, screaming, and dark hallways.
i never thought i'd find a light.
i never thought it would be hiding within myself, just waiting for the spark to ignite all that i am worth.
i am more than their cruel words and intentions.
i am more than circumstance and ****** situations.
i am more than anyone expected me to be.
and everyday i grow and surpass all of that more and more.
i am 16, going on 17.
and for once, there is light, there is a future, there is kindness.
my eyes have never been so open.
i hope no one comes to close them again.

I took rest on the river road
by the big Platmann place,

two stout stories, white pillared and regal on this prairie

envy ate my gut most days when I passed:
a fine car, servants and the like

today though, was curiosity stirred in me
since what I happened to see, was a giant
red-tailed hawk, splayed and stuck to an outbuilding, entails dripping

an avian crucifixion, I was told

after the raptor snatched up the Platmann's tabby

the pet was not saved, by prayer or the screams of the young lass who called the cat Matilda

though a handy shotgun brought down
the bird before it reached the stand of trees

(where it would have had its furry repast)

only winged and not shot fatal
the hawk was dragged back to the shed

where a knife slit its gut, and a fire forged hammer and three penny nails did the rest

the skies did not darken, nor did the sacrificed call out to an invisible father

'tis not the way of hunters, nor their prey

I did tarry a while and wonder, if a child's eyes saw this rapacious red reaping,

or knew of the dumb desperate need for a blood cleansing

The next stop on the metropoly
pops by me
quickly

I need to up my game
or take a back seat
be like a deadbeat
and stagnate.

It's that day which is Wednesday
and not a day for me,
wish it was yesterday a year ago
or tomorrow a long time ago
but
wishing only makes the well run dry
so
I try not to make too many.

' a penny for  your thoughts '
as if any of my thoughts were
worth as much.

The next stop on the monotony
whizzes  past me and yet again
I miss the boat.

You had to imagine it to see it.

Closing my eyes to the sunrise
I could sleep for an island of days,
lonely in many ways this would suit me.

but the day marches long into the sounds of a song that I find I am singing

Happiness is somehow somewhere here
which is odd because I am too.

A blank verse worked,
A page with empty lines,
Not a word was written,
Precocious or sublime.

     I think I can go deeper,
     No title, lines or words,
     Just a blank white paper
     To ponder and observe.
     Smaller than a quark,
     Just think and it will work.
     Even greater than the singularity
     That banged our universe.
     Something was there,
     But nothing's here.
     This is a nothing verse.

It teaches nothing's worse
Than worthless words
That have no meaning,
No emotion, zero girth.

But you can make an ode of it,
A sonnet, or Rondeau,
Choose to please your fancy,
But please don't choose Haiku.