She is starlight
Fighting for the moon's attention
As she moves in sync
With the peace of this earth
Sparking fires In the fields of my imagination
She coaxes me forward
Towards some beautiful disaster
My eyes caught in her gaze
As I float among the wreckage of my ship

She is a healer
Who never healed her own wounds
So she gives and gives
An leaves just the smallest trail of blood
She lives in a house full
Of punched out funhouse mirrors
With a bottle in one hand
And her not so innocent good intentions
In the other
She makes me feel like some dumb little kid
Riding his bike way too fast down a hill
No helmet, just a grin

The way she is so full of that nervous energy
You get the feeling that she is always moving
Kinetic
With eyes closed and music playing
The way she seems like nobody is watching her
She fixed her broken acoustic
By taking my heart strings
And strumming them against pretty fantasies
Just because she missed the sound

On this earth many do wander
Whether she has a flower in her hair,
Gum in her mouth,
A cute 2nd hand outfit
With cute first hand scars to match
Out there -
Walking with the weight of their clipped wings
Resting heavily on their back -
Are the fallen angels
And I wish I knew how
I might teach them to fly again

A rabbit walks into a brothel
after surveying the place
from every ***** corner
to every strangely clean counter top
he noticed
that there was no women in the place
only children
confused,
He asked the manager about this
to which he replied
"Silly Rabbit
Tricks are for kids"

Honestly, nobody really cares about the faded pink hash marks which track their course up your forearms and thighs
Honestly, they will feel bad for you then forget
Honestly, it's an effort of futility
Honestly, this is not a world for cowards
Honestly, that's probably what you are
Honestly, drinking and smoking is just another form of razor
Honestly, you need *****. Women and Men.
Honestly, whatever you are is perfectly okay and that is just perfect
Honestly, the majority of people you meet will try to tear you down
Honestly, these monsters are mortal
Honestly, I made a lot of mistakes along the way
Honestly, I don't care
Honestly, they make me who I am
Honestly, this poem will end soon
Honestly, no matter where who what when how, you will be better than fine
Honestly.

As kids we played football
maybe you call it soccer
but it doesn’t matter
There was this pitch
in the park across the street
from my childhood town
tucked away in my memory
like distant church bells
and the smell of honeysuckle
on that pitch we played world cup
or full scale games if enough kids were out
and we got competitive
mud tracks and red thighs
never actually keeping track of the score
just who was playing best
and if I’m honest
it wasn’t often me
but it was never about the game
it was about the bonds we developed
on the field all building towards the same goal
a picture of crossbars
and side netting
and grass greener than it could be
in any other slice of time
and the sound
the sound of leather boot smacking against the ball
still wet with rainfall from the night before
we played football as kids
because at times
it was the only thing that made any

There's gotta be something to all this
he says
he pleads
he reaches out for something concrete to mix his ideals in with
there's gotta be something to it
he says
well explain what it is to me.
it's like
I see the world before me
every place that ever was
ever will be
I see all of this
and all of the people -
silly little things bouncing around the galactic pin ball table
and it's like I'm waiting for the bonus round
I'm not following you
that's the problem
nail on the ******* head doc
nobody follows me
or maybe I don't follow them
they say Hello how are you doing
and all I hear is
sroeijfapoirjfpaiorjvpioserhvipshfvjipsrjvarjv[oisjgv[js[voijn­raoijoi[sjvijsr[jsr[i,vjsoirjvso[itjsoiernaudrv;jzdnfv;ndfvi;ondf­oibnsoinb Why ******* bother?
and I don't know why I bother
ya know, doc?
because I see myself in a cracked mirror
a really introspective, deep thinking, wordsmith of the people by the people for the people
here to wake people up, to put some ******* oomph in their step
then it changes
out of my left eye I see
the waste of space siphoning oxygen and turning it into ****
so **** yourself to make the world a better place, right? only I know that it's not right. When I am awake in bed at five am craving anything to shut my brain up I think of her, or the other ones, or my Mother and how much wasted potential it would be. Potential I don't have. Potential everybody tells me is there. Go to school. Move to san fran, or LA, or the big apple, flee. But I can't leave them.
Slow down son, you're rambling.
sorry doc, it's just the world moves at a set speed, and inside my head is a washing machine full of shoes and bricks on way too high a setting.
so why do you write?
because If I didn't this would all come out in much unhealthier ways. I have to stop myself from spearing the woman with her baby with my Hyundai accent hatchback 2011. I clench my fist so tight, that my fingernails cut my palm - If only I didn't bite them raw and ******.
Where do you think this all comes from, this feeling of anxiety?
where? what the **** kind of a question is that, doc?
just do your best
my best will never be good enough. Because the world is empty and void and full of people who would sell you as Joseph just for a technicolored dream coat.
That reference is so outdated, who is it for?
certainly not the people who like my work. I write poetry for a world that doesn't give a **** about poetry.
you don't really write poetry though, do you? You just rant and then hit enter to give the appearance of lines and stanzas.
You're right. I dropped out of school for this **** and all I can churn out is infantile angsty *******. I hate the people who practice self harm. It seems laughable to me. If you need help ask. If you want to die, Die. Nobody is stopping you. Then again, I want to save every kid who thinks they are ****** up or not worth it or hopeless. Maybe I read the catcher in the Rye one too many times. But Salinger had it right. He just locked himself away from the world so he could write.
I think we're about to run out of time
Doc, my time ran out a long while ago. My whole life has been spent running away from the last falling grain of sand
so the same time next week?
sure, doc, why the **** not, I mean you don't even really exist.
You are just the dead air when I'm at my most lonesome. This office - just my empty car, my bed in late and early hours and this patient is just another kid thinking he is the exception only to realize we're all being flushed down the same ****** toilet.
So yeah, same time next week I guess

Take my ashtrays
and throw them in the street
where the ratty, shirtless children play,
sure
go ahead
drop my keys down storm drains
never to be seen again
when the skies all open up
and the rain pours out of them
it will be like you
showering me in your glances
from the other side of the desk
this train has no known destination
and I can’t make out the turns from drops
but I do know that we’ve been off track
for a few miles now
and that this boxcar is dark and dusty
no breathing room to light a fire
no time for the canned food
******* I am really lost
China st is closing in all around me
and I could have sworn I’ve seen these houses before
phantoms from some long lost dream
teasing the fringes of my memory
this necklace sitting on my desk
amid the ash and dust and ink and carvings
is my favorite thing I don’t own
my tongue is the frayed leash
which allows my mind to wander
off on infinite miles in every direction
My heart is a drum
sitting in the back corner
of a garage sale
and my words and my cigarettes have a lot in common
because inevitably
I just end up
blowing smoke

most of my generation
will probably be dead
within seventy years
which is a sober thought
which some would find depressing
but I've always found it comforting
the time we have here is in the end
not very long and not very meaningful
again,
people tend to think of this
as a dark way to look at the world
and I can never get them to understand
the true beauty of the fact
because what it means is
regardless of what we do in life
we have the freedom
to live it on our own terms
no expectations
no responsibilities
no nothing,
except for what we choose
because nothing feels as good
as a life lived
on your own terms
and not anybody elses

so you've graduated high school
you got into that university you wanted
or maybe the one you didn't
still,
you're going somewhere in the fall
then you'll live the easy life for four or so years
gain some weight
lose it
change your fashion sense
discover who you are
all the while
you'll be doing dumb ****
making friends
losing friends
and even learning a few things along the way
then you graduate again
hooray for you
what's next?
a job?
a year of looking?
you could always go back for your masters
you know with the dilution of a BA/BS degree today
you'll probably need it
if you don't want to flip burgers
so now it's been 6 or 7 years
just in higher education
more like a decade
if you pursue that pesky PHD
so you can make the big bucks
then what?
pick up a nice girl somewhere
you'll both grow together
fall in what you think is love
compromise after compromise
for some romantic ideal
which you chase but never catch fully
maybe the poor broad
will churn out a couple of kids for you
a son to carry on your name
a daughter to protect
and they become teenagers
and you're old now
you don't understand them
and they resent you
and all of those dollars
you worked so hard for
disappear
like there's a hole in your back pocket
and then the kids go to college
just like you did
and you and the missus have to fight
to act like you aren't dead in the water
and then one morning
you wake up
your skin hangs off of you
in all the wrong places
it looks like you are wearing a costume
which doesn't fit
and you get winded walking up the stairs
to your study
where you sit and drink the night away
before you crawl back in bed with the shack job
where even the slightest touch
is no longer tantalizing,
but irritating
you wake up and realize
you did everything expected of you
you wake up and realize
you did it all wrong

It gets real hard to
keep track of the little imps
that run around inside my head
a healthy dose of ****
television and video games
keep them occupied for a while
but then their right back at it
a devilish whirling dervish
that keeps me up far longer than the sun
and when they get hungry
I crave a cigarette strangely enough
and I give them words
to keep them big and strong
but not too strong
I can't have them breaking out
and leaving me all alone
so i keep them hostage
praying for Stockholm syndrome
It wouldn't be real love
but it would be enough
because I would be so happy
if anybody read my work
but never satisfied
being an unknown poet
The imps in my head
are prideful creatures
that want to be known
in the legend books
as the biggest strongest imps around

hello honey
it's been a while has it not
how have you been?
me?
oh,
I've been crazy
starving
drunk
and drunk
and higher than a choir boys voice
I'm so broke I've been smoking Pall Malls
but don't worry darling,
I'm not dead yet
oh please do tell me about
the hundreds of other guys
and girls
that you've been seeing
they sound great
I know I've been trying this for years
but why don't we take us out for a spin?
oh not yet
don't worry I'll keep trying
Listen baby
I was thinking about you while you were gone
it was all I was thinking about
and I've got a feeling I'll see you soon
I know it
deep in the pit of my gut
but until then,
take care
with equal parts love
and hate
your future lover

They stole the night
out from beneath their feet
and replaced it
with endless painted black billboards
with cosmic advertisements
that read: tired of those pesky feelings?
then come on down to the real world
and the stars were switched with
fluorescent bulbs and Christmas lights
the clouds are just moving back drops
and the moon a search light
they stole the day
replaced vibrant blue with
coral blue #64
or baby blue
but mostly gray
they beat ambition with baseball bats
and left it for dead in a ditch
on the side of a high way
they took life
and made it banal
a product
Honey I've shrunk the conversation!
they took the world
and all of it's people
but don't let them
mean you

She wasn't alone on the stage
she had her nerves
she had her sweaty palms
and shaky fingers
her rapid breath
she had the spot light
the audience
and her busted old
acoustic guitar
she had the limelight
drinking from it greedily
she had the limelight
that she was allergic to
recklessly taking it in
she had the limelight
and she had me

Boy meets girl
girl acts coy
boy acts distant
they dance around each other
playing their games
playing their songs
their music
she would sing the songs
he would write the words
boy and girl become friends
they hang out
acting always as if they don't want
anything more from the other
to want another is viewed as weakness
and they both want to appear strong
so they don't worry anybody
so they don't attract the predators
like moths with faces on their wings
they just want protection
until they can take flight

Years pass
they're fairly close
years pass and they're still on the same level
alcohol is introduced
and they have brief moments
flaring out in the mess of time
where they catch a glimpse of what they want
a long hug
walking back with his arm around her shoulders
dancing in a dark basement
He's a coward at heart
hidden beneath steel plated armor
she's a cocoon
waiting to become a butterfly
maybe one day they'll get it together
maybe one day

It was a lonely night
East grace street
Richmond's art district
on the border of Jackson's Ward
my side of the city
more bums than students
right by the transvestite bar
I met a fellow,
strange in appearance
and mannerisms
black dress shirt
black slacks
black shoes
black hair slicked over a waxy skull
'scuse me sir
ya gotta smoke
no man, I'm all out
all tapped out for cash
wanna strike a bargain
this roadside stranger
the hour was wee
cracked a cracked teeth smile
I knew I should deny
but still...
what're your terms
use your wrists
veins
fingers
mouth
mind
heart
promote me
tell the people I'm still sittin' here on the side of the road with a sign askin forra smoke
I nodded
vocabulary voraciously stolen by the non vox populi
he gave me a pack of filters
I lit up
eyes dancing, lost in the cherry's afterglow
and I felt it gone
empty
dangerous
erratic
I sold my soul that night
and I don't feel like looking for it

they are taking all of the ideas which once worked
and are forcing them into the corpses of dead horses
kids are slitting each others’ throats for the clothes on their backs
or are in charity stores stealing from the poor
the tension in the air at the dinner party has half of us
leaning on lean towards outlawdom and fifty dollar eighths
a spark of flint in the dark gives away your position on the wrong side of tracks
with eyeballs and ears waiting around every single ******* corner
so now private is ******* and they are ******* with fury
the constant race with fake identities until we find one that is safe
we caught a glimpse of the earth turning lazily on its axis
and realized how far away we all are from hand holding kumbaya camp fires
the tribes of black and metal and steel and concrete and blood are tearing through the land
and they don’t tend to take prisoners
we kept on churning out the same ******* and then got confused when they all stopped eating
so now they hunt for new witches to scapegoat
burning them on crosses and pyres until all the screaming ceases
all we can do is find a little inch of free ground
and defend it with all we have got

The walls are vibrating
with sweat pouring
my artificial heartbeat
is the recorded sounds
of feet taking flight up sidewalk runways
pouring with sweat
heart exploding
and maybe if it does
I can get something on the page
for you magnificent sons of *******
but my appetite will be vanquished
in t-minus one hour
the extended release of last nights beer
and smoke permeating through skin
blow it in the air
to show the trip wires
my desk chair dusty and lifeless for too long
“how’s the writing going, Harry?”
about as well as when poets try to be real people -
so a lot of complaining and selfish procrastination -
but my crosshairs are all aligned
trigger finger itchy
the sarcastic, *****, dropout, “just rolled out of bed”
cynical wordsmith
with a chipper chip on my shoulder
and just like lays you can’t just have one
so I’m quick to 86 any competition
who are too quick to toe over my line
you don’t wake a hibernating bear
and you certainly don’t poke the starving wolf
when the grease from last night’s dinner
coats your skin like slime
my hands are shaking
and homework is due by the start of class yesterday
But I’ll be fine, Ma
I’ve got a mouth full of big talk
and eyes full of short sighted leaps of faith
my soul blows through alleys, avenues, and storm drains
and it tastes just like little kid medicine
something artificially sweet masking the bitterness
When I was a little **** -
making dens, kicking cans, and ringing doorbells -
they told me I could be anything
except tall enough to ride all the good roller coasters
so now, I’m a carnie in a booth
getting revenge on the world
by ignoring all the kids screaming
for me to stop the ride
I’m no artist
far cry from a poet
I’m a kid, too smart for his own good
too dumb to know better
to confused to guess at the ending
of this movie

when I was a kid
my dad used to put me to bed
every night
now I'm not a kid
or at least
that's what I'm told
dad's not around a whole lot anymore
and the funny thing is
I can't fall asleep on my own
someone has to put me there
or something
something which doesn't disappoint
something which is around
the only things in my life
that I can depend on

They get me up
but always give me
five extra minutes
they destroy me
they reassure me
when the sky gets too heavy
we're here for you
and always will be
so don't be scared
just let us in
and everything will be okay
and they always know
when it's time to tuck me in
without fail
a constant pick up
a necessary sedation
always dependent
on their dependency

She was walking down the street
and the way she looked -
the way she seemed to glide over
the litter strewn concrete
in that thrift store sundress -
punched me right in the throat
she said she didn’t have a name
said she was raised by wolves
Well I guess that’d make you a *****,
right?
she asked me for a lighter
for her American Spirit -
the turquoise box -
and she smelled like diner coffee
my ashtray
and cheap perfume
the black smudges of makeup
lining her face
told me that she was no stranger
to long nights
and I told her
I’m no stranger to
falling for pretty girls
maybe one day
I’ll be there to catch you
she said,
walking away down the street
disappearing into the spot
where the horizon meets my imagination
I pulled up my pants
and went off looking for a soft landing

We still have the summer
that we spent together
before you went to college
the nights we spent
drunk on the beach
you with your guitar
me with my smile
as the surf licked our feet
the times we spent
hip to hip
looking at the stars
on that patch of private grass
down the street from your house
all the times spent
wagging our chins
about whatever came to mind
we will always have the summer

We still have the summer
when the leaves outside my window
turn crisp brown, apple red, and gold
when the school bell rings
like the doorbells
opened upon
kids trying to make five bucks
When summer's lingering heat
beings to chill
and we are once again visited
by the ghosts of our breath
We will always have the summer

We still have the summer
when winter comes along
and maybe if we're lucky
it'll be a white Christmas
but this is Richmond
so probably not
but I hope we do
the city looks so pretty
all lit up on a snowy night
We will always have the summer

We still have the summer
when our birthday month rolls around
a couple of April fools
laughing our ***** off
When new life springs out
from all around
and the spring showers
turns the early morning grass
into a field of stars
or a Caribbean sea
meeting a setting sun
and the birds sing their pretty little hearts out
just like you
We will always have the summer

And when summer comes round again
maybe I will see you
not a care in the world
a world's worth of meaning
maybe we will go back to that beach
the sun and salt
turning our skin to leather
until we look like a couple
of Florida retirees
happy and wrinkled
Maybe
we can gaze up at the stars
or your ceiling fan
It really doesn't matter
Maybe these things will happen
maybe not
I find comfort
in knowing
that I will always have that summer

It's appealing to steal treasure from right under the dragon's snout
a taste of ambrosia so sweet
but the thing they never tell you about
mythical dragon treasure
is that it doesn't last forever
dragon treasure don't pay no bills
but it gives courage
and a taste for more
take another chest
more and more frequently
that dragon always sleeping
snoring in billowing rings of acrid blackness
the smell of bonfires and gasoline
people go mad
raving naked in the streets
for that **** wooden chest filled with it's ****** gold trinkets
and once the child is grown
the treasure only becomes heavier
no more impish laughter following the daring theft
just a sore back, a head ache, a lot of burnt bridges, and an empty apartment
The only company the calls from collection agencies
and the funniest part is
we thought the dragon was sleeping the whole time
only to find that dragons don't sleep
they wait - hungry and patient
another soul swallowed whole
by the sleeping dragon
that ******* dragon and that ******* treasure
a temptation suspended in a moment of twinkling light

If I were humble
I'd never make it out the apartment
sitting in dank basements
like that creepy guy in your building
good for me I'm not humble
if I were I wouldn't heat up reading Hemingway
I mean if I were humble
then your grand kids wouldn't be reading my poison in the 9th grade
If I were then my name would drop off
but Harry J Baxter is too good of a name to go unheard
so even if it take twenty years
I'll stay on my 10,000 ft soap box
obnoxiously screaming in your ears
from computer screens
paper pages
street corners
and bathroom stalls
you can't spell arrogant
without **go

Endless cars rush by the window
in flashes of silver, black, and white
and almost like clockwork
the bus stops just outside
in regular intervals
and endless people
hobble by the window
in flashes of middle, lower, and no class
and outside the addicts
try to turn the very air they breathe
into gun metal blue
puffs of cigarette smoke
and inside people read newspapers
and try to talk,
to think,
to work,
over the rough din
of coffee machines competing with
beautiful jazz trumpets and saxophones
and there's an old black man
and a slightly less old white man
they are friends, and they sit next to me
talking about money and work
and how they wonder
if Joe ever moved into his new place
and it made me wonder too
the old black man
has his eye on an old
antique Spanish coin
he's just waiting for the price to go down
and there are people
their faces obscured by the screens of their laptops
who flutter between
their work and social media
there's an energy about the place
that we all seem to share
as if we are all a part of a bigger community
even if we don't recognize it
just a rag tag group
of transient people
who don't really have
anywhere else to be

what's good?
no not what's up
the ceiling hardyfuckinghar
what's bad?
Me?
but not bad like fat with a p h a t
i mean bad like blowing out six candles
on a six year old's birthday cake
or telling kids that santa died in their chimney
maybe if they'd been good they wouldn't have all that coal
where were we?
what's good?
like cops throwing the drunk black guys in the paddy wagon right?
like *** with a hot stranger?
like kids going to college and getting jobs
I'm all good like a summer day
with good ****
and liquor which isn't cheap
riding in a top down jeep
like long conversations through the night
with that pretty wild girl whose wildly pretty
I'm good like a mind lost in the clouds
just wisps of cirrus clouds like smoke
mind in technicolor
no 60's blackn'white
and camel billboards blowing smoke rings
it's 2000 and technological conformity
and my windows are all stained glass portraits
of kids on corners talking mad game
take a microscope to the skin
and find the smiling similes chasing meaty metaphors
dead on dialogue and diction
**** syntax sent sideways from silly slick talkers' sentences
words which mean nothing
usually mean the most

Mr. Invincible
Mr. Unkillable
Mr. just walks away
I wish I knew the exact percent
of how close I came to death
or how close I came to ******
it seems as if
there is a God out there somewhere
who had different plans for me
The EMT's were shocked
by how little was wrong with me
and I signed the refusal form
and walked back out into the night
Mr. Invincible
but for how long?

Look at you
you little ***** bird
hopping on nimble legs
between the outside tables
of that coffee shop
that I like to write in
you dart this way
and that
with a fluid grace
which reminds me
of the body of a beautiful woman
you little ***** bird
picking up crumbs of bagel
from the cracks in the ***** pavement
taking cigarette butts
back to your nest
where ever that is
Monroe park maybe?
oh ***** little bird
I admire you
for being able to possess
such a natural beauty
in the midst of this city

to preach insanity
screaming blanks in the streets
twisted limbs
hang from twisted bodies
malnourished and dangerous
the edge people
they live life
balanced on their tiptoes
in a bathtub
choking on their sins
sins which they didn't commit
an old rocking chair
sits in a wooded clearance
forgotten and mossy
hopes and dreams
stripped layer by layer
until the marrow is all gone
to preach madness
that's what they want from me
to call us mad men
but there's no such thing
there
is no
such thing

She's one of my best friends
ever since ninth grade
I thought I'd ask her to homecoming
but my other friend beat to the punch
and it was okay
in ninth grade nobody needs a relationship
and they were so perfectly wrong for each other

she asked me to talk to him
he smokes too much
and it's hurting his grades
and I want to tell her
to scream at her
you're asking me to give advice
the blind leading the blind
because we can always see it coming
the sad part is we let it take us
when being high or drunk
is the only true thing you feel anymore
sold soul to the dealer
lost in an ABC store
I want to tell her
I can't help him
like you can't help me
we carry these globes atop our shoulders
and it gets so heavy
our knees shatter
until we are left kneeling
waiting for that ax
until we can learn to help ourselves
we can't reach out
until we can look in

They call it substance abuse
but I'm always the one
who wakes up bruised and hungover
catching the morning after sweats
soaking my bed sheets
and besides from a few broken bottles
and certain plants
which I burn to ash
the substances always seem
to be doing just fine
what a bunch of ******

I’m drowning in all the irony

Thrift store clerks with beards of

iron wool *****

and tattoos of the monsters under my bed



It goes coffee shop coffee shop camera store

bicycle vendor, corner store, coffee shop

parking deck, gas station, thrift shop



I have a pocket full of compliments

and a face full of stolen sunglasses and dental floss

and if I walk long enough

down broad, main, or grace

then maybe I can find the secret

the secret of how not drown

in all of the girls with their yoga pants and plaids

Can I learn to swim

when I’m already this far out?



I saw a homeless man eating a dead magpie

it was ******* weird

I was walking down one too many toward the intersection

of marijuana and spirits

already spinning myself a web of a night of discomfort

but the neon lights shone upon me

making me think it was the cops

so I ran and ran and ran until my shoes flapped worn

only to fall and skin my knee on the punchline

It’s hard to live in Atlantis

without a passport

or gills.

is anybody out there
listening to the scrape of heart on rib cage?
ten times over
the knocker sounds
ten times over
the doors remain steady
voices sound from the other side
muffled against the wood
quiet and lulling at times
mostly raging
frothing
the figure stands guard
clad in a suit of dark
and the figurine sits on its haunches
laughing and grinning always
the black is a thick blanket
infinite yet tiny
electrically charged with dreams
and it's easy to get lost
and scared
too easy to flee fast on feet
but to weather the barrage of flowing thunder storm
is to bring closer the possibility
of a greater tale

******* hoodies and stained jeans
rank socks and two day old underwear
get back from work
collapse into the couch
feeling the exhaustion creep up from toes to top
smelling like an ashtray
eyes red from carrying heavy bags
***** the cap on and catch it with the flame
smoke filling it up
raising a fish out of the ocean
three
two
one
mouth pushes down as lungs become acrid
hold it in until you float away
now exhale
the body high
paranoia
giggles
sink deeper into the couch
ride the waves back
until you can see land
then find the message in the bottle
it says
you're not done quite yet
empty clinking
no more thinking
head is reeling
no more feeling
face the ceiling
fall asleep on the sofa
wake up long enough to crawl to bed
at one in the morning
fall into the black brick wall of unconsciousness
alarm clock screams ****** ******
snooze just a little further
brush the dentals
ice cold water washes over a washed up face
climb in the car at seven fifteen
to go make enough money
to do it all again
we stay in this purgatory
waiting to see if we make the list
heaven on hell
without a soul to sell

walking through artificial American Dream
where the air tastes like $100 shirts
and the fraternity of extravagance
the light shines through the perfectly spaced trees
to turn everything filigree
and all of the people
walking tall and confident
like plastic action figures of success
the silver spoon tastes bitter
when it’s been in someone else’s mouth
just like the $30 dollar entrees
and the four story department stores
these people are not my people
my people sport scars which they wear like tattoos
my people sport second hand cars with junked up speakers
A ferrari engine sounds like a the cries of every young kid
who falls into ghetto trappings of big dreams gone unmatched
and even the homeless people were eating ribs
drinking starbucks
with cups filled with ten dollar bills
the prestige drips down the wall
like fresh spray paint
to drip into storm drains
where diversity goes to die
this alien land of hostile takeovers
and university donors
where the **** is non-existent
but *******, cirroc, and xanax
flow freely
chemical castration of the lazy philosopher
an injection of man made ambition
where the hands on the Rolex
keep tight around throats
because being late to that meeting is no option
Children being driven around by chauffeurs in Bentleys
women being driven by the promise of security
I think to myself
I’ll never see the benefit in the scheme
which leads to El Dorado
and Atlantis is just a myth
maybe I just bleed the black and Gold and Richmond
like the ink dripping off my hungry fangs
to see the benefits of injecting a syringe
of Hoya blue liquid sapphire
to get so high
that I lose sight of the ground forever

It's amazing that
in spite of everything
she can still smile
tricked into thinking
she needs make up to
make her self beautiful
this world has made her
unknowingly bipolar
a cold *****
or a ****
she can take her pick
but she still smiles
somehow in the afternoon sun
down by the James river
she dips her feet in
and her smile
outshines the sun

the layers unfold like spring time flowers
aching to be viewed
by sunlight eyes
a winter spent
under the heavy hands
of the foundry
shaped and strengthened
until it is finally ready
to steal the breath
from your lungs
and make your heart
come alive

Gross.

A hammock sways lazily
pushed ever so gently by the ocean breeze
where the grass fades to grains of sand
about a stone's throw away from the dock
where he fished with his father
where his father had yelled at him
for throwing back the fish
which he had left to suffocate on the dock
we could've eaten that
I'd prefer Howard's Pub
There is a coffee shop
with a vast lawn
and a small porch beneath an old wooden arcade
they sold good coffee,
and worked for their tips,
There are endless beaches
which most tourists never see
hidden beaches hiding behind signs marked:
private
and he got ****** on almost all of them
And there was a night
****** off of whiskey and Johnny Cash
were he laid atop a picnic table
drunkenly trying to count the stars
breathing in unison with the cosmos.
and there were pretty locals
riding around on bikes
the kind that you have to pedal backwards
to work the brakes,
and there is music
endless amateurs plying their crafts
to anybody who had a spare moment
leathery, salty, sticky, sweaty beach people
people who live in small shacks
which they made by hand,
who live off the fish in the Atlantic
and the good will of good people,
they said there was a lost colony or something there
and I think they still are there
a special breed of people
who have no idea what a franchise fast food restaurant is
people who live at a slower pace
than the ticking hands of all of the big money clocks
people who live in a place
where the Pelicans reign supreme
the people of Ocracoke Island

I see them walking down streets with names like
old buckingham
old gun road
westchester common street
robious
hugenaut
broad
grace frankling main cary
carry the weight of a group of ****** up **** ups
trying to "make a difference"
delusional *******
difference is made from killing a status quo
and their hands shake like childrens'
take a stake in the mental quake of the plasticity of the fake looking for mates
I'm tumbling down sure fall peak
free fall
until falling free is forgotten as a quest
childe roland to the dark tower came
yeah I went to college for a little bit there
broke out when I broke out of a sane frame of mind
swallow the sludge created by incontinent consumerists
snakes on trees make better friends than invisible fathers
but get these depressed lunatics out of my sight
feeling a fight bubbling up
complaints are for the complacent
so I don't see you
fear or hear no evil
evil makes good possible
using my vice versa as my vice
quoting bible quotes verbatim
I don't ft right
jigsaw piece chewed up by toddlers
jam me into place
and cover me in duct tape to silence the protests

As children we played pretend in the playground
I shot you
you're dead, you're supposed to fall down
back when we were kids
when *** heads were junkies
drunks a sloppy mess of ugly
and the only cigarettes we put in our mouths were candy
we used to ding **** ditch the entire neighborhood for ***** and giggles
and hangout just to talk
now we raise dabs of felony hash oil washed down with rubbing alcohol, cancer, and razor blades
the clocks melted before we could reset the hands
and all of the tools we need have been turned into resin covered smoking apparatuses anyway
walking city streets alone wasted in the witching hour
praying some crazed *** pulls a blade
so we can at least die in a fight

Now I hear a lot things
things like you can't be too blue
too white to live a blue life
well I'm hungry
and I'm black and blue
Now listen sweet cheeks
you keep flapping those gums
and I'm going to get the hell out of here
because you are a place called last
and I'm a town called over the horizon
causing riots by talking about which flavor
of starburst is the best
and ******* if you don't think pink
my blues are more like baby blues
I get jealous real easy
so maybe they're turquoise
who the hell cares
all I know now
is I wander from bus stop to bus stop
with a harmonica I can't play
singing at the top of my lungs
"BLUE?!'
"**** sunshine,
all I see
is red"

You said don't overthink this
and don't go writing me
any of those ******* love poems
because we both know this isn't love
I said,
you look nice with no shorts on
thanks,
you said
I said I love the way you look without those pesky denim shorts
you told me to stop being a smart ***
but let's be honest
we both knew
you were getting on that plane
and that I was going to write this poem anyways

from the times when we lost the ball over the hedge
and had to ask for teacher's approval
past the days sneaking onto the farm
performing hay bale removal
running away from angry farmers
and school dances
those moments you heart catches
in your throat
before you ask
you wanna dance or something?
from the times your heart rate was thumping
from this sinking ship we're all jumping
first drink is never the last
everything is so rosy when we are looking back
pained goodbyes
and times spent laughing
flying across the world
to the sound of dull clapping
new weather new school new friends
torn pages and books that don't end
public school and private
mountains we haven't climbed yet
and a new set of smiles
fading all the while
while we become someone we haven't yet met
try hard not to get scared and jet set
changes and pretty girls
all alone in the world
just like everybody else
the book shelves
we never built
and the schools we never graduated from
we all put these lyrics in our songs
cracked bongs and braces
all to say I loved you if you ever loved me
we turn the pages so fast
that we lose some moments
but others are burned into our eyes
like the stage lights which burned so bright
even when the pictures fades to sepia
or black and white
we have blank leaves left to leave behind
and the camera around our necks is only so heavy
because it's full of film
so crack a smile
and grab a friend
family
lover
stranger
enemy
and show your good side
and scream cheese
from the top of your lungs

Smile,
That's the best word to describe it
Lights casting shadows over my spine
You make me a real *******
Grinning at anything you say
Drunkard pen pals
I like your slightly too long/too skinny fingers
Which end in calloused tips
Because you don't own a pick
I know words
But not the right words for you
Always another self made excuse
But I haven't hurt you yet

the morning after
the sun sneaking through the blinds
naked and hungover
but not caring
because you were naked too
I know this because
while you were sleeping
I took a cheeky peek under the covers
I sleep with a body pillow
but waking up,
my arm around the real thing,
kicks the hell out of any pillow
and your hair was messy
i liked that, but knew you wouldn't
so I tucked it behind your ear
you letting out a breathy sigh
and I could tell you were smiling
by how your cheek bones raised
you playing footsie with me
and smiling
and ******* on my thumb
was an ego boost
because sober you
wasn't freaking the hell out
trying to find a way out of that stranger's attic bedroom
and we kissed
made out
and other stuff
which gentlemen don't talk about
and you got up to get dressed
standing naked trying to find your *******
me in bed saying
"stay in bed for a while longer
that plane to California
ain't going nowhere"
and you said
"yes it it,
it's going to California"
I knew that
but your *** looked great
pulling on those cut off denim shorts
but you had to go
and so did I
and I know *** is supposed to be for the mature
but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
singing that entire ride home
"I GOT LAID LAST NIGHT!"
like a kid hyped up and hopped up on Halloween candy
It's nice being called "Good Morning"

Warning:
To all involved
Tomorrow D-day comes
Move out from bunkers
Retreat to the family unit
Time has ran out of breath
And is panting on the sidelines
She wasn't a dime piece
Slightly better than a nickel
And my choices scar her thighs
My memories
Already miss her taste
That I never knew
She was always there
On inebriated nights
When the stars tried to call me home
And I
Will never forget her

people have a tendency
to take things for granted
as if to say
it isn't good enough
to meerely be breathing
it's like
we're always wanting something more
greedy when it comes to happiness
or maybe it's just
that we aren't ever really happy
unless we're miserable
a culture which breeds masochists
we just can't see heaven
we are more focused
on worrying about which clouds
will be rain clouds

the rain falls down in small volleys
they call it daily showers
the temperature rises to near sixties
uncharacteristically ominous
rising to a foul stagnation
and the fog rolls in to obscure sight
it's hard to see but so far ahead of you
when you're out there wandering

"you should really try to get clean"
That's what they would say,
if they knew,
but they don't
I can't let them
something about being a "man"
infected me with stubborn pride
and one hell of a fall

I just can't be open
nobody ever tells you
how hard honesty can be
and the truth of it is
I should probably see somebody
because the days spent sober
are filled up with
inescapable, palpable, crushing boredom
and the nights are spent
hiding from my own thoughts
afraid to sleep because of what it may entail
so the days kinda bleed together
like kool aid and water
and for good measure
a lot of *****

If my life is like a tightrope
and I'm toeing down the the line
then the world is my audience
they're all waiting for different things
to see me fall
fail
take the big nose dive of suspense
others are just curious
as to the nature of the whole spectacle
and an odd couple hundred of people
want to see me make to the other side
smiling and laughing
ecstatic in the ecstasy of my success
and the way I see it
that makes my Dad
a safety net made out of green backs
and my Mum
the harness I use to get back up
when i inevitably fall off

The bathroom looks like a ****** scene
blood spotting the walls,
the floor,
the yellowing porcelain,
blood.

My brother calls me three times around midnight
I don't pick up
I'm off in la la land
chasing funny things
put to bed on the sofa
in my friends' dorm
too high to fall safely
drunk enough to take the risk

The bathroom is a ****** scene this morning
all of that blood once ran through veins
bringing oxygen to muscles and organs
keeping my brother ticking
and now it's turning the color of rust
on the bathroom floor

When I got to my first English class in college
the professor asked us
how would you describe yourself?
there were some pretty responses
I'm a leaf floating down stream
I'm a tree slowly growing
I'm a bird leaving the nest
It was my turn
A boulder,
huh?
please elaborate,
Well teach, it's like this
I'm not alive in the same sense as the others
I don't grow or change on my own accord
no I sit still
silent
immovable
stubborn
I take in what goes on around me
since the beginning of time
until the end of time
time means nothing to a boulder
My cracks are representations
of the choices and actions of those around me
and I'm still sitting still
long after they have passed
stationary,
but don't try to move me,
because once I get going
I only get harder to stop
So that's me
a cold boulder
only capable of what
the world around me permits