attention problems you say?
well it's no wonder
our lives are dominated by screens
that keep appearing like pop-ups
and have you ever lived in a city?
it's hard not to be distracted
by thick framed pointless glasses
and whatever might be bobbing beneath those skirts
and we are the iced coffee frappamochalattechino generation
so it makes sense that we can't sit still
and when all of the information
in the known universe is just a google away
then why would we pay attention in school?
adderall
focalin
ritalin
*******
****
****
speed
what's the difference
it's all about medicating regulation to stop the second guessing
even when it rains we see the pitter patter
of each individual droplet
splashing
on each individual street
from west coast
to the orients
and when people can quote more commercials
than books
then where is the surprise?
let the adhd be
stop telling kids to stop day dreaming
it's the only thing that might save them
from later life mid-life crisis screaming

I love the light
the way colors appear before us
varying hues and shades and textures
vibrant or dull
but always alive
the way light bends around us
to reveal a reality
an illusion
I love the light
for showing me that a dark bedroom
is nothing to be afraid of
I love the light
for filling me with strength
for healing me
that blazing ball of gas we circle
some cultures worship it
and I can see why
light gives life
light gives color
light gives darkness
and excitement
light…
the promise of something fresh
something new
“got a light?”

Hey hellopoetry people,
I recently had a poem of mine published in the Ezine: **** Art Let's Dance which is published through Nostrovia Poetry. I will also have two more poems published in issue #5 which will be live this August. Tell me what you think and give Nostrovia and FALD your support and readership.

http://www.nostroviatowriting.com/issue-004.html

Keep scribbling,
Harry J. Baxter

take me away to a different place
I had never been there before
but it smelled like memories
the sky meeting with the ground
in a haze of heat and dreams
far off from the tilted axis
and the rotations of day and night
music plays but our headphones
aren’t plugged into anything
where we walked and walked
and our shoes never wore
our feet never sore
and the horizon never came to meet us
at the train station
where no train will ever come
we play in between the tracks
throwing stones down the river
to watch them skip
mile after mile after mile
out of sight
texts were notes we drew in the sand
that the wind would never blow over
the clouds blowing low over the model houses
every bench a billow of thick smoke
dancing in still air
on the fringe of night
I had never been to this strange alien place before
but once I arrived,
I never wanted to leave

The jester is weeping - locked in the bathroom, not coming out
the jester is weeping like a girl stag on prom night
each fetal rock accompanied by a jingle of bells
he painted a picture of perfect only to find the paint dry
the ugly makeup is running down his face
and his suit is tattered with grit
a clown is a last straw to clutch when the world is burning
“yeah, but at least it’s funny”
his drink spilling down his chin
watch as he makes a balloon noose
so the children can play hangman with his wavering decisions
his pants are full of candy
call it a painata
you can laugh and laugh and laugh
until it all sounds like wailing
the jester, weeping like the fool he plays
the crown’s court pleased with their pet
obnoxious explosions of ignorant, blissful cackles
the jester is tired
he has to go to sleep now
and the once they lose the laughter
they will see the brutal realities
they will be cannibalized by their fear
God, save the Jester
he’s all we’ve got

cracked out
humble with heaps of pride
braggadocio Pinocchio
I haven’t slept in days
so watch the hours turn into haze
blown out of barely open windows
hide me from the world
I’m making a pristine machine - unbreakable
foreseeable as a weapon of poor taste
chasing wasted with chasers
are you shaking?
only with excitement
rage
hunger
My dad says get a job, get an education
so I chose a dead vocation with no hopes of vacations
and everybody is talking about the future as if it exists
it only exists in clenched fists and endless lists
of all the wrong turns you made on the journey
from then to now
I’m eating sacred cow meat - medium rare please
coming up with ways to scare these dumb ******* kids away from apathy
to put the shield over their hearts and the rifle in their hands
but wah wah nobody understands blah blah blah
shut the **** up for once
act like you actually have a pair of *****
even if you don’t
back in the day when we used to rob neighborhood garages of beer
and played with pills like candy
nobody threw tantrums about how unfair it all is
so you think the world owes you something?
the only thing it owes you is one death
so why are you wasting all of our time with your I could have saved the world
cry baby *******
I’m looking for slutty girls
pearl necklace on her checklist
so I can slam her on page verse
me versus the world, right?
left out by all the cool kids
drinking boohoo flavored kool-aid
so I made myself a parody of pretension
cunning, coming, *******
you are the joke so I guess that makes me a punchline
I’m running sprints from the baseline until I’m throwing up the right choices
so continue with all of that angsty impotent sadness
so long as you stay out of my part of town

"******* old man"
He told them to turn the **** noise down
stopped at the Hugenot and Robious light
they were 16 with cigarettes, a bowl named Willem Dafoe, and an old VW hippy van
Too drunk and throwing up in Mom's best frying pan
pain pills because they all saw an orthodontist
a camelback full of two types of whiskey boiling in the van at noon
the two headed beast spewing into one toilet
shrooms
acid
DMT
all chemically hard to pronounce
they saw the face of God as she mourned her own death
sweet lovely death
bittersweet like chasing bourbon with coke
lost in the maelstrom of growing responsibilities
amber
then green
they tore down Robious laughing
and singing punk music at the top of their lungs

you made some choices
maybe the only choice you made
was to let somebody else make all the choices
but you are excellent at finger pointing
and complacency
even better at keeping your mouth shut
great at getting ******
weekends don't mean the same to you as they do to others
you spent your only free time getting higher or lower than the others
pop a pill
take a shot
or burn a fatty
we're all committing suicide in some way
we're all born under the death sentence of a clock which only runs backwards
time is limited and is not something we get back in change from a cash register
or in a tip from some ******* customer who is so much more important than you
the kids are all smiling and laughing with ease
and you hate them for it
jealousy is one hell of a vice
and on those nights were you gripped the pillow tight to your chest just not wanting to be alone
you always are
and your alarm clock is always set for 6:45
in the AM
and you don't get home until 5:30
PM region
you give and give and give and wait and wait and wait
just like they told you to
because God forbid you try to take it
make it break it fake it or forsake it
just get back in line
the bouncer will let you know when you can come in
a 25 to life cover charge required,
of course,
and put your lighters and rags and spirits away
this won't be the day you crack
and burn that palace of mediocrity to the ground
paste that big plastic plaster smile on your face
grimace because it's about to come out of you
"Thank you sir. Have nice day. We appreciate you business."

I could get into the whole
an artist says a hard thing in a simple way
but that doesn't seem to be the case
if I have to see one more black and white photo
of an empty playground
I'll burn every camera store to the ground
and if I hear anymore about how pained your soul is
I might just shoot myself
artsy fartsy
silly *****
these words come willingly
but truth be told
I'd rather read the ingredients on my shampoo bottle

Can you hear me out there
come in
come in
over
Radio Silence
I silence my happiness with a smile
don't look at me
when your ice cream falls from the cone
your baby crocodile tears won't work here
and we both know I'm a great terrible liar
are you still out there?
are you still out there circling that same stretch of concrete
with sunglasses a hoodie and a 20 oz black eye
with your heart on her sleeve
arterial spurts of blood painting these white walls
yes my dear I do love you
now come here and help me hide my hunger
We are having trouble making contact
Roger that
at noon he wakes up and croons at the open skirt of Apollo
well hello sir, might a catch a ride to fire on your chariot?
to the place where Kamel Reds are $2.80
and the diner coffee is good and watery
just like the diarrhea which follows
I'm a jack *** joker with a jester hat on each foot so that when you hear church bells it just means I'm outside of your front door
but **** it
you can find me at the park we grew up in
too scared to jump off the swings at the highest point
I read about Icarus and Mamma aint raise no fools
my self esteem ran away that summer I forgot to close the gate behind me
so now me and my ego, Id, and superego
are patrolling your town
armed with fliers and staplers
but hey, it's all good right?
when the nights are longer
the days shorter
and the thoughts darker
I want life to be one trampoline
like the one we held wrestling matches on in Middle school
can I get a double bounce?
I never lost a game of popcorn in my life
It's on my resume
We are experiencing some frequency interference
Is that you?
can you hear us?
I think we lost him
lost him to the radio silence

Salt on the back of my hand I know so well
shot of tequila to remember you scent
**** the lime down to bring the balance
How are you tonight
better than me,
surely.
My chestnut girl
my top teeth too long
upper lip too short
best friend
making me feel saintly for taking your nerves and melting them in my palm
pleading to Gods I never met
for this last bet
to end up winning
I'm losing my sanity with every breath expelled
but who want's to be sane
when in the land of the blind
the seven eyed man is king?
Sane insane saints and sins cast across the wall like suicide grey matter
the children wouldn't understand
It's probably for the best
but when tequila clouds the back of my throat
my sinuses remind me of the sound of you
playing guitar
and singing the songs
which held you close in childhood

alright kid, listen up. They’ve been calling you ****** for too long. Ignoring your humanity for too long. The first thing you need to do is study up on your state’s gun laws. Waiting period? Hand guns? Age restrictions? You might be from the south - in which case you are in luck. A neighbor will have a rifle or shotgun, probably not locked away too well either. If you still can’t get your hands on a piece there is always the gun show loophole. Everything is legal if you buy it at a gun show. Now you’ve got your hands on a weapon you’re going to need some ammo. How mad are you? Remember to account for human error. Now you need to work on concealment. They’ll see the weird little *** with a cop killer from a mile away. Trench coats don’t work. Who the hell wears trench coats nowadays, you’ve gotta think. The night before you should sketch out a birds eye floor plan of the school. Mark the exits and choke points. You’ve seen 300 right? Make sure to leave a copy of your manifesto for a perfect utopia on your bedside and eat a good dinner. Get your eight hours. Tomorrow is the big day. Getting shot only hurts for the seconds it takes you to hit the ground.

The school yard was quiet. First period slowly meandering along. Outside the sky is grey and the birds perch atop telephone lines in judgement. It goes Bang, Bang, and Bang then silence. Then screaming. Ears ringing and sweat dripping.

This just in. A shooting at could’ve been you high school has left thirteen dead and six injured. Let’s shove the camera in their face and ask them to relive how awful it all was. That’ll get ratings for sure. The shooter was sixteen year old could be the weird kid in your neighborhood. He got a gun from insert political belief here and brought it to school that morning. He opened fire in the middle of shut up and listen class. Now we are going to show you every page of his crazed manifesto on repeat for the rest of day. You can also find it online on our website or on Amazon.

Death came quicker than he thought it would. Suicide by a police officer is honestly very efficient. with each bullet unloaded on him it was like slipping into a dream. No more eating lunch alone with his crippling social anxiety. No more name calling. No more absentee parents. No more PE classes getting hammered in touch football. No more loneliness or anonymity. At least now they would all remember his name. The feeling of getting punched in the chest and the taste of iron on his lips were his best memory to date. Darkness now.

We make monsters
and don’t go to their funerals
everybody living with survivors guilt
I was never mean to him
who saw that coming?
everybody wants love
but nobody wants to give it
so instead we capitalize on tragedy
and lament our own foolish ways
too little way too ******* late

We were clean. Pure.
Trekking from pine needles to sand
time slipping away from
the mountainous routine of
laughter and tears smeared across cyberspace
when I was younger
my Mother told me
that when the people we love die
you can still see them
the brightest stars breaking through the night sky
we were wandering away from smirking academia
clawing our education from
the comedies and tragedies of early mornings
calm like the kiss of diamond tides
and long nights
weighed down with thoughts and drugs and alcohol
shutting off each night
on each sunrise
drifting with nomadic intentions we
raged for rage’s sake
on green lawns with signs painted
dig deeper into the blazing structure,
the momentum is shifting,
and the Kingfisher is watching
proclaiming from mountaintops
that killers hunt these city streets
with a pocket full of bad ideas
the prey a sparkling barfly
clean and holy beneath a neon color palette
potential squandered in a scream of confusion
knowing that not every leap
is a leap of faith

Sunglasses stolen from Wingz in Duck, NC
a $15 thrift shop suit - just in case
the car is used
and the cashiers at the GoodWill down the street all know his face
bagged eyes
morning after hair
in need of a shower and a smile

He just bought a $200 laptop
now he masturbates in style
shoving Lenovo 2in1's and iPad's up their ***
please sir - may I have some more
status symbols symbolic of castes
and he hides among the untouchables
but this **** is loud
and I don't drink ***** unless P Diddy made it
Memento Mori
when we die -
we'll leave behind remnants of our false idol

see we don’t take anything too seriously
meet up at my place for some *******
splashing in a pool of **** your stuff
they only told us to do as we were told
so we always did the opposite
calling self-destruction noble individualism
take a GB or two or however many get’s the job done
I hear some medicinal **** is coming to town
and yeah grab me another beer
because it’s noon and today still looks ugly
muscles are tripping on lactic acid
stomach growling
but the coffee keeps the leash tight
when the word sober puts your teeth on edge
and the part-time gig scratches your throat
we’re the silly people who weave in and out
of anonymity
with music too loud
and choices too poor
the junkies and jokers are carrying me to the river
because it gets hard to paddle upstream sometimes
and laughter is really only the second best medicine

I don't necesarrily believe in angels
but one came to me anyways
she told me
"There is a time to live,
and there is also a time to die."
I didn't know what she was going on about,
only, I knew exactly what she was going on about,
only, I didn't want to know
"You have courage in your heart,
this is a known universal truth"
look lady,
I aint got **** in my heart,
go ahead and take a look
"You can't dwell in this dark place forever
waiting for your time to die"
I thought an angel would be better able to grasp the concept
of purgatory, but apparently not,
"You weren't made for a life of cowardice,
a life on the run"
the blisters on my heels would beg to differ
"You can't hide from potential failure,
Hiding when you should stand
is the ultimate failure"
So I guess God won't be
all too happy with my report card
"It's time to wake up,
you silly little boy,
it's time to live"
and ljust like that,
she was gone
leaving me questioning
if she had ever really been there in the first place,
or if I had finally lost my ******* mind
but I like to think she was there
I like to think
it's a time to live

If there were ever a problem
worth ******* about
I don't think think we know what it is
so selfish,
so selfishly selfless
and we have no clue
as to what it is we are doing
so we all end up doing nothing
as nothing
as everything falls as sand through hour glasses
so that now all I write
is gibberish,
but sometimes gibberish just makes more sense
other times,
it's complete gibberish

simplicity oozes out with every breath
not a "**** it" attitude
but a let come what may disposition
long fine fingers
ending in guitar string calluses
mestizo skin kissed by Apollo
and the eyes
always the eyes
a color which has no name
other than stunning
and hips and thighs and hindquarters
knock on the door which leads
to primal masculinity
and proceeds to leave it dumbfounded
a voice which sounds like
the nursery rhymes
mothers have read to their children
every night
all over the world
all throughout time
a bashful smile never far from the lips
with hair like liquid chestnuts
and a heart which beats
like a caged robin
her name is
untold bliss

**** this,
**** that,
**** it all,
*******,
**** me,
**** living like this

It's rare you'll find me in my home town
straw in mouth
**** on shoes
i'm a country boy loving this acid washed city life of "Ima get what's mine"
but don't call me bumpkin
while I'm sitting out on a back porch
jameson and RJ Reynolds
I have a tendency to spout off words like an unattended hydrant on a ghetto summer day
not all of them make sense
not all of them are in good taste
or right
but whether it be suburban Midlothian
farming village Drax
or downtown Richmond
I find my home on page
beneath the low chattering of keys
scratching of pens
Each word you never had the heart to say
is my place of residence

He likes to play pretend
making sense of the make believe
believing all the words
which worked their way
through his windows
he climbs to the top of hay bales
to tumble towards the earth
a heap of laughter
running away from the farmers
perched high atop their tractors
like a tractor beam
he is drawn towards
the endless day dreams
of rainy Mondays
behind classroom windows
but recess is over now
and the bar is open
all night

We may have lost
whatever it was we had
but we still need each other
though it's hopeless
but it could have been so pretty
but that's all
just a hypothetical
and I've been drunk for a week now
looking for us in bottles
but no matter how long
and how dark
the nights can be
the sun also rises

so i have this lighter,
I love the thing
more than I love most people
It has a place of permanence in my pocket
so that I never leave home without it
the chrome box glints in varying lights
and it makes a cool click when you open it up
it's enough to feel like some sort of
John Travolta greaser wannabe
but it isn't a real zippo,
I had a real zippo once
which my grandfather gave me
it was from WW2 and it was gold
but time broke it to ****,
no now I'm stuck with the fake one
just a small sized bic
in metal casing
any bic would fit
not unique
but somehow distinguished
I think that's why
I like it so much

Let’s go trainspotting
or did I mean train hopping?
we’ll pick apples from the trees
out back under dark night skies
when nobody is watching
and we’ll drink water from gas station bathrooms
and coca cola from the glass bottle
Do you think
that before the cell phone towers were erected
people ever sent drunk letters?
Natives on Ayahuasca sending smoke signals
which say heyy!
I was thinking about you
and in the morning do you think they check the embers
and go oh ****
what did I do last night?
the chief is going to give me so much ****
the thing is
the things I say to you
with something in my system
are truer than all of the well calculated
across the room stares and smiles
and at night
while I stand lookout
while you pick apples
maybe I’ll drink some apple cider
and send you a drunk conversation
but when I’m with you
It’s like I’m drunk on puppy love
so you can believe
every text I send you

"So what is it"
"It's the chemical dreams are made of"
"it comes in waves:
the first hit you feel awesome,
the second hit you feel awful
the third hit makes you forget everything"
three hits
lightly cooking the bowl
1
this feels great
2
my heart is going to explode
3
the color drains from the world into black and white
sepia
and purple stars
the spirit molecule
and my body feels like a thousand pounds
"just close your eyes and ride it out"
fractal light patterns
and flashes of eyes
the eye of ra?
the eye of horus?
no
the Goddess Seshat
I had no idea who she was
but she was talking to me
her voice breaking through the tentacles and sound wave mesh
she said
God is weeping
and I said but why?
is it because I was bad?
and she said
no,
it's because you think you are
and his face flashed before
drenched in tears
only to be replaced by a scorpion
but I'm a Taurus and not a Scorpio
the silhouette of a bull blowing smoke
and she told me many things
she told me about me
about wisdom
about the world
then a phone ringer sounded
it was a text
and the cloud of cosmic dust particles slowly settled
It was the real world again
only this time
more peaceful
"Guess how long it's been?"
"five minutes?"
"twenty."
and I could already feel it fading away
all that's left are flashes of images and conversation
and the feeling that there was an important message

the orange glow from the fire
partially lit the man's face
catching each crack and valley in a shadow
"Gather round if you'd hear a tale"
a voice of gravel and coals
and too much moonshine
"once there was a young boy
the type of young boy,
who never leaves home
without his skinned knees,
and oh, what a boy he was
brave and good
yes once there was a boy
who was well and truly lost..."

once there was a boy
who had a thirst for adventure
that only young boys have
and there was an old forest
in his small village
ancient and mystic
possessing untold wisdom
it was said to be alive,
mothers told their children
to give it a wide berth
but some kids
just can't be told
the boy walked past the forest every day
and felt some great force
humming from deep inside
calling to him
enticing him,

One day it was too much
he packed his supplies
of bread and water
with his shoulders back
his chest puffed out
he walked on into that forest,

In the low afternoon light
the forest was pleasant
and the air stood sober, serene
shafts of light came down like spears from heaven
breaking through the clouds
and the thick forest canopy
but it was all a mirage
an oasis in the desert
and as the sun dipped below the earth
the forest began to change
and the boy stood true
foolishly thinking
that the dark is nothing to be scared of
how little he knew

The branches took on twisted new shapes
and the little demons came out to play
the wind in the trees
a groan of death
a groan of ******
the forest creek turned to ice
and the pathways all twisted
and formed circular paths
and before long
the boy was lost
now this was before telephones
and the boy was deep in the forest
he knew it was trouble for sure

Now the boy wasn't much good with directions
and he wasn't much good
at telling the time
and the canopy was so thick
that the north star was lost
but he still felt that humming
drawing him deeper into the forest
and he had no choice but to follow
so he walked
and he walked
and he walked some more
for many days
and many nights
his shoes were battered
his clothes,
***** and torn
and he grew skinny
from foraging nuts
but he climbed up hills
and crawled through thorns
and went deeper
into the forest
the humming was growing louder
with each wayward step
until it split his skull like a shriek
and he brought his palms to his temples
and carried on with a grimace
because the forest had filled the boy
with **** and grit and steel
and just when he thought he could no longer take it
he came upon a small pool
more like a natural well
of the clearest water he had ever seen
the world went quiet
only the vibrations of humming birds were heard
as the boy hunkered down over the water
and what he saw in the reflection
was strange and troubling
for it was no longer a boy
who returned his scowl
but a man
a rough man with a scraggly beard
so the boy no more
stood up,
turned around,
and went to find his home

"Now I know what you're thinking
old man you drank one too many drinks
and that's true,
my mind isn't what it used to be
but I know that forest
like an old friend
and mark my words
in the eyes of the Lord
I knew that boy once
a long time ago
and as for the man
well now he's an old man
sitting at a camp fire
telling tales to strangers
missing the adventures of boyhood
oh once there was a boy,
but no more,
no
more"

Users and abusers
come one and all
there is a freak show
down in the glass house
winos and crack heads
coke freaks and nitrous suckers
acupuncture skin punctures
and candy land pill poppers
*** heads and shroom munchers
users and abusers
one and all
come on down to church
in the basement of the glass house
wet your tongue in holy water
and revel the gospel of our lord and savior
(Insert dead pop culture icon here)
and don't forget to pay the tithe
to mother superior

We popped ourselves up to the ideas of pop culture
and adopted the looks of orphans
spray paint and swear words
too loud overcrowded mischief
the misgivings of being too young
children throwing tantrums over ice cream
calendars fell and the montage ended
we were flung across the globe as dandelion seeds
weeds to be weeded
I was playing tight rope on the fence
and fell on the side with no safety net
skinned knees and black eyes
the stoners the dropouts the thugs and **** ups
***** and *******
******* and *******
these were just words
deactivated model replicas pointed at the head
college student with a chip on the shoulder
and the one they called the jester
and the one they called the king
with return addresses tattooed on arms
the awake became the living dream
no time for nights of nightmares
enough scare to go around
pack another GB and cry some more
my blood is ink dripping from the pen
yours drips from thighs and forearms
you want to be the new thing
you forgot what the original means
and burned all of your dictionaries a while ago
check my *** cheek
the origin is there
UK/USA
now all the lights are off
and the moon hangs fat, sacrificial in the sky
do you want the moon? That’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you the moon.

He came in on the Greyhound bus
with deep brown eyes
smoldering like coals in his skull
the lines on his face
and the final remains
of puberty induced acne
made his age impossible to guess
He put up in the YMCA
locked up in his room
smoking with the windows open
drinking Wild Irish Rose
It felt good
as it's warmth flowed through his veins
he felt the tightness which gripped him
dissolve until he felt
adrift in an ocean of wine
He went out on the streets
The city was mostly dead at night
which allowed him the privilege
of being alone,
his destination was unknown
and near empty buses
filled with few unfortunate to be awake
He thought
he might like to burn this place down
so something,
anything could happen
to spur him from
apathetic footholds
their had to be some action,
some life,
some danger,
left in the world,
and until then
he would drink and smoke
and wait to die
and he would move,
from town to town
until the road ran out.
A transient

I am a purveyor of sin
sins the things which define us
which mark our character
and make us human
give me your sins
your ***** little secrets
too overwhelming for many mortal ears
give me confessions of lust
and passion
and rage
and jealousy
and I will give you beautiful stories
of times when sin saved the day
gave life to the mundane
give me your lies
the whopping big ones
just know that I have built my house out of lies
and am no stranger to their seductive ways
give me your dreams which became nightmares
your shame
your darkness
give me the parts of you
most people would never see

Without question
my favorite instrument
would have to be my
electronic Brother typewriter
The chattering of the keys
and the punching of letters
become the melody
of whatever I'm feeling
whether it comes
fast and furious
or slow and pensive
it always knows
what I'm trying to say
and don't get me wrong
I love a good six string
and ivory and ebony keys
may equate to beauty
but they don't compare
to my instrument
It's ancestors graced
by some of the greatest players
to walk this earth
complete with a handle
so that I never have to leave it behind
to me,
there is no music sweeter
than the stories which erupt
from my favorite instrument

We were at the lofts
drinking beer and gin and whiskey
while the snow piled up against us outside
played some fifa
lost a few games of fifa
whatever I was drunk
Oh is it seriously almost three
okay me and Hayden have to go
It went bro grab bro grab
bro’s girlfriend hug
and oh look, there’s my gay friend
hug him goodbye
oh, his hands are on my face
oh, he’s kissing my face now
was that Saliva?
Oh Jesus
break away, make a quick exit
see you guys tomorrow or something
feeling like a ******* for feeling like it was ****** up for him to kiss me
am I a *** now?
**** I hope not
I like girls too much
but why did he do that?
everything was so great
he knows I’m not gay
and that I don’t care
but do I care?
the memory of unwanted saliva echoes in my head
I guess sometimes
your gay friend will give you a drunken peck on the cheek
I guess that sometimes
you have to not be such a close minded jack ***
and just deal with it

The roller coasters never used to the scare me
it was always the lines which I feared
waiting and waiting and waiting
allowing my mind the space to run wild
with images of crushed, collapsed, metal
the loops and the speed never scared me
the rickety clank of the old tracks
or the hydraulic rumblings of the new
these things never scared me
it was my own mind which scared me
the certainty with which I knew
that I was never going to wait in another line
ever again
that after this,
all would be like before I was born
the hazy dark silence
of an unconscious mind
But the roller coasters?
I always used to enjoy the roller coasters

Timothy Baxter: An intellectual genius with the emotional intelligence of a five year old
so thank you for these closed lips
and thank you for the impeccable hair line
thank you for the one too many thoughts keeping me up at 4 AM
thank you for my 5'7 stature
and thanks for all the self-loathing
thanks for the rent
and thanks for making me love hating responsibility
thank you

Mary Hartley Baxter: not one who came from white picket fences and Sunday drives. A giver. A lover. A control freak
Thank you for these psyche wrecking nerves
the bowling ball taking up permanent residence in the pit of my stomach
Thank you for teaching me how to treat women
and thank you for the stubbornness which allows this arrogance
thank you for keeping my feet attached to planet earth
while my head sails among the billowing clouds
for telling me how handsome I am
thank you for teaching me what it means to be in a family
thank you for letting me be a loser sometimes
thank you

Harry J Baxter: the heroic coward with a funny joke in bad taste and the right words for the wrong times
anti hero of a story nobody else is aware of
thank you for abusing all those pesky substances, they surely deserved it
thank you for the black lungs
thank you for speeding down dead end lane at five hundred miles an hour
thank you for remembering your helmet
thank you for saving all the words we never said to those we love
thank you for hiding from the unknown to avoid the scars of failure
thank you for getting those scars anyway
just so we knew what they felt like
thank you for the writer's block.... You *******
but in all seriousness,
thank you for building up your tolerance to beatings
because they will continue until morale improves
thank you

It's a strange place - the real world - monsters lay in wait in every shadow around every corner
and yeah, you aren't the human being 2.0
but you're prepared enough to board up the windows before the hurricane
and Mum, Dad,
I can talk all the **** in the world
but all of it would be empty
because for as ****** up as I am
as ****** up as you both certainly are
we've made it this far
and ******* it
I can't see our sun setting anytime soon
so my naturally adapted cynical sarcasm behind me
Thank you for loving me no matter what
even when the well was so dry love was hard to find
Thank you.

A southern belle
the only men she's ever loved
are her daddy and Jesus
and every Sunday
I see her walk out of that Church
with her flowing white dress
like the clouds
she's a lover
a server of the Lord
and she lives to save
her voice is a choir
and her long brown hair
is silent pews
her eyes are like first time prayers
and a cathedral smile
rests upon her face
when it's bathed by the warm Virginia sun

Lying in my plastic bed
Thinking how things weren't so cool to me
My baby likes to shoot pool
I like lying naked in my bedroom
Tying on that dinosaur tonight
It used to be so cool
But now I've got that need(le)
That I can't shake
And I can't breathe
They take it away
But I want more and more
One day I'm gunna lose the war

I've always admired the people
who can stand behind a microphone
and reach an audience of people
these rock stars
these ego killers
preachers
teachers
they don't beat around the burning bush
and stroll down the mountain with their own ten commandments
while we waste so much life
trying to build the perfect identity
fake it till you make it
but these people -
they wear themselves like a name tag
they don't wake up hungover
in a pair of **** stained jeans

let me introduce you to my old friend
Jax (Jackson) Hate
ladies and gentlemen
tell 'em about yourself
why don't you, you're the writer
I've known Jax for as long as I can remember
UK to US
kids to teen to?
to a sentimental ***
He's an *******, but he's my *******
He kept me safe
kept me laughing
when I was lost he found me
stop you're making me wet
I love him
really - I do
I'd love me too
The scruffy, scatter brained, *** crazed, sarcastic sociopath is more than blood to me
My imaginary friend who leaped straight from somebody else's nightmare to rescue me
You looked so pathetic, let's be honest, I didn't really have a choice.
He was the one who went straight for the cricket bat in playground scraps
taught me everything I know about manipulating women
You'd still just be loving your right hand every night if we never met
Yeah, but I'd still be in college
Yeah? Rotting away with the other soon to be bovine corpses? Stellar plan my man. ******* A
No, now we rot alone
Smells more like waiting for the legend to take hold. We'll own this world by proxy.
Me, I'm a kid who writes
Jax?
He's a murderer at heart
the hurricane to my calm, rippling koi pond
You forget I'm a misogynist.
I don't know if he's here to stay
I don't know if I ever want him to leave me
no longer mutually parasitic
*the ******* end

Including this one
I have wrote
My last nine poems
From a cell phone
And if that ****** you off,
I don't care

strength doesn't mean courage
suicide takes courage
persevering takes strength
approaching that pretty girl
you saw in starbucks
takes courage
loving her
even at the times
when you think you might hate her
takes strength
fighting takes courage
pacifism until you find something
worth fighting for takes strength
encased in our ideals
they catch quite the beating
and if they still stand
once the dust has settled
the smoke cleared
then you know they were strong
I might not be brave
and I might be short and skinny
but don't relax that guard
I have strength enough to know
that you are mistaken

My **** is in anonymous
kisses of some unknown shore
where the tide undulates to it’s own exotic rhythm
you can call it lust
when playing with fire becomes a necessity
working in the fields towards a better crop
in the age of reckless apathy everybody knows how to smile
having fun because it’s all that is left to do
I am caught in a vice grip
so roll up another because this room is starting to seem real
the sky is either orange or purple or something else
and my cup is far from full
you have to know yourself otherwise
when high tide rolls through you will lose yourself
to pretty cheerleaders and too many consequences
that you let slide
she isn’t very good with directions
which explains how she found herself here
laughing and saying pretty things
as the last light bulb burns out
leaving me in another self-inflicted dark room
whispering my secrets to the moon

For every single time I stumbled on loose sidewalk brickwork
I have allowed a so what? smile to cross my face
this is no roadmap
flat as the earth was all those years ago
this path is uneven
and littered with fragments of the lives of others
others who at one point may have walked down this same sidewalk
only to stumble on loose brickwork
so what?
and each parked car
that I may have kissed while backing up
has its own life
maybe the owner spends hours in discussion
how the hell did I get that scratch?
well you are welcome -
so what?
and just maybe
if you call that number
stenciled and fading in the weathered concrete beneath the bridge
you will have a good time
so what?
the homeless man I saw one morning
taking the cans out of my recycling bin
and putting them in a duffel bag
was once a ten year old boy
who did things that every ten year old boy does
so what?
and maybe every single dumb poem I pen
makes its way into the heart
of just one person
and maybe they just fly upwards
into the atmosphere
where they dissolve into wind
*so what?

They tell us they have our best interests at heart
as if They could ever have any idea towards
what Our best interests might be
the songs coming from my car stereo
asks me
“they’re out for presidents to represent them.
You really think a president could represent you?”
I say cease the gentrification
of neighborhoods which hold more history
than you hold fake smiles
and if we have an issue of poverty
maybe you shouldn’t focus as much
on roping clean cut white students
into your neighborhood
to raise property values
and instead focus on repairing
an entire portion of the population
which we enslaved with chains and drugs and crimes
a whole segment of our reality
which we told were no good
and lazy
and hopeless
but act surprised when they turn to crime, drugs, and violence
***, Drugs, and Rock’nRoll
but that’s only if you’re affluently white
for the rest of the world it goes
STD’s
whole generations brought to their knees beneath the heaving weight of substance abuse
and a small fragment of an idea, a belief, that the only thing that can save them
is their ability to create something from nothing
a rap entrenched in justified outrage
or a man who came from less than nothing
sailing through the air
to slam the basket through the hoop of everything we told him was out of reach
My white guilt is fighting with my white privilege
and it’s leaving me left asking
What makes them any worse than me?
from the jobs I’ve worked the only thing I learned
was that all that divides us
is those who know how to hustle
and those who know how to take
We spent hundreds of years trying to break
their spirit down like the roads in the ghetto parts of town
but as a kid
some of my greatest heroes were the poor and disenfranchised
who came from nothing and carried with them only their voice
and their story
and It’s easy for me to sit here in my apartment
demonizing the things I didn’t choose to benefit from
The first hip hop show I went to
I carried a bag full of insecurities
they read of a list that went like this:
I am an over-privileged white boy
who never had to work for a single thing in his entire **** life
so what right do I have here with these people?
this is the closest these people come to God
and that makes me and outsider
a blasphemous heathen
a representative of the cult which cuts down their leaders
and herds their youth like sheep
but I can say I never paid money for a pair of Jordans
not facilitating the death of brain washed lost children
sacrificed so some CEO’s can give his escort a fatter tip
before going back to his family
whom he assures he loves
and the men behind their podiums
clad in suits which cost more money than some make in a year
cry wolf time and time again
and time and time again
we lock ourselves away in isolation and panic
because that’s all they want from us
they want us silent and docile
so they smother our protests
with scare tactics
keep them afraid
keep them wary and nervous
keep their fingers inches from triggers
keep them buying
keep them divided
I was watching the news
a White kid took his parents’ car out on a joy ride
“Oh he’s just a kid. Kid’s make mistakes. It’s actually kinda funny.”
a few months earlier
the same story about a black kid
“He’s already a criminal. What a shame he was raised so poorly. This is what’s wrong with the country.”
and I don’t have the right answers to respond to that
all I know
is I think we’d fare far better
if we spent less time listening to the fear
and more time being human beings

We used to play guns with sticks
and we all knew how to die convincingly
with playing cards in our spokes
we summit hills atop motorcycles
ratatatatatattt
we walked through woods
explorers and pioneers
waiting for dinner or supper or bedtime
when summer was another world entirely
and the stains on our clothes
told stories
and not worries
We would carve sticks into spears
with knives our mothers did not know we had
today we hunt pheasant
we never did catch one
but we made dens deep in the woods
and climbed trees until we didn’t know how to get down
the hay bales stacked four stories high
in the farmer’s field
was a jungle gym
and when the farmer chased us away
in his combine harvester
we were playing Jurassic Park
back when girls were silly, annoying little things
that none of us were quite sure why we liked
and fights were forgotten within the hour
we had better things to laugh at
a marble composition book filled with ****** raps
and graffiti designs
we would take stones and make them into entire planets
but before long
our shadows caught up with us
a stick was just a stick
a bike just a way to beat the heat
and we were all too aware
of the special effects

I think I'm going to write a book
school shootings for dummies
just to **** people off
just so it could get banned
that way all of my other books
could be about fairies and flowers
and endless unconditional love
and people would buy them
"I want to read the school shooting guy's book"
because as much as people pretend to be P.C.
we're still in the Colosseum
screaming at the top of our lungs
for the blood splash catharsis
and we think we are so civilized

Somewhere along the line
I lost control of the handle bars
It probably has something to do
with my Parents getting divorced
so even my problems
are teenage cliches
so i try my best not to come across
as some angsty kid
who posts angsty poems
about all of their angst,
so I bottle it up
behind a lock and key mouth
but It always seeps out
in a look I give a stranger
when I feel as If I need to move
at 1 million miles an hour
but my feet are cemented to ground

I never decided to write poems
to be perfectly honest
I always thought of poetry
as being for girls
ignorant?
yes,
but I never claimed to know jack
about anything
but I picked up a pen
hoping to sew the pieces of my broken heart together
and that first poem just wrote itself
it was like something out of this world
like crazies who babble in tongues at church
I loved it
but It isn't enough
I'm bombing down a steep hill
on a beat up ten speed
screaming in terror
screaming in excitement
"Look Ma, no hands"

Don't smile at me
especially not with your eyes
it's just not fair.
Every single one of you has the upper hand on me
I see you at cafes
at parties drunk beyond mischief
I see you in the elevator
on the streets
through my window
in my high school year book
In my dreams
the first poem I wrote on this site
about three hundred or so ago
so **** romantic and cheesy
but that's how you make me feel
your blonde hair
your chestnut hair
black hair
green, blue mahogany eyes
the natural born mothers
the rebels
the ones who just wanted me to feel good about being me
all of you so **** special
I've loved you all at some point or another
but that doesn't make it fair
when I see another one of you
at the party
smiling, dancing, asking me to take shots
I can't say no
the only thing I want
validation from making you feel validated
and beautiful
like you are
all I want to say is this
Whether it be one conversation lasting from the lobby to the second floor
or a life long friendship
I'm thankful for all of you
the doe in the forest

they come into your life
leaving everything important
untouched,
in its place
but certain things they change
like picture frames
at jaunty angles
these magnificent creatures
flit into our lives
and back out
so fast
you barely remember them
until drunk summer nights
at the river rock festival
they seem to line up
beneath star specked
inky skies
and the heavy blanket
of summer humidity
girls with hugs
and guys with great roars of joy
as if they had been searching for you all night
memories are remembered
new experiences embellished
before the thread of your lives
untangle once more
and they are gone
off into the chasm of darkness
indefinitely

Her backbone is a long stretch of American western highway
I trace my fingers eastbound/westbound across the slats of her ribs
pressed against the skin ready to pop
She left southside Midlothian Virginia as soon as she was old enough to make her own bad decisions
sick of being looked at
eyes grading like the big fat red D's stamped on her math homework
She left by foot
bus
plain
train
that grey jetta with the scratch down the passenger side from where she parked too close to that ugly Subaru
she left me
but she needed to breathe some air that wasn't stale with mediocre pretension and the frat house odor of stale beer and sawdust
so run wild
fly free
may your lips utter cliches without fear of derision
go make your life an incredible story
beautiful
ugly
hard to look at
can't look away
make your life a story
and I'll record it

He had been on the road for a while
trekking from city unknown to city unknown
in a cloud of dust kicked up
by a Greyhound bus
he used a different name in every city
he wasn't a criminal,
but he was on the run,
he simply enjoyed anonymity
enjoyed being everybody's imaginary friend
He took magic mushrooms in Richmond
and rode the image of his grand spiritual quest
like a drug induced steed,
rode it straight to San Jose
where he met some migrant workers
who drank cheap mescal
beneath the stars of the dead pan landscape
wasters of the great American wasteland
and in New Mexico city
he was given a tab of acid
which dissolved under his tongue
in an explosion of hypnotic torture
his life reflected as a visage
as hallucinogenic as the walls which rippled all around him,
Portland was ******* and oxy pills
his humanity stretched tight like a drum
ready to snap at any given stimuli
he made it to California
dreams of LA
he became addicted to the limelight,
pretty hipster chicks who were foolish enough
to sleep with him,
simply because he introduced himself as a writer,
simply because he could work the word,
and he settled in San Diego
where the whiskey poured freely
and the *** was enough to blow your ******* head off,
in a small one room apartment
where the rent was cheap,
he drank and smoked himself in a stupor
with the windows open -
enjoying the soft pacific breeze which washed him of his sins
he had been all over his forced continent
looking for a place to call home,
but he never found what he was looking for,
and with grit and determination
and a hunger for the freedom of the American dream
he packed up again,
and left for the road,
a thief in the all encompassing night