Being poor,
Has become a certainty for me,
I have rejected my dad's money
To go off on my own
And how do I survive it?
I can survive because
I'd **** and eat your family's
Precious little dog
Before I'd let myself starve

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

There's a man I know
I'd name him, only,
I'm not sure it's my place,
he views the world in music
music as the voice of angels
the language of the heavens
he's an old snowball of a guy
his black skin cracked at the lips and fingers
and white foam coating the corners of his leathery lips
He reminds me of my late grandfather
a soldier who fell to Parkinson's
He had been playing flute,
cello,
violin,
piano,
and conducting since the age of five
I bought two CD's from him for seven bucks
and **** it was pretty **** good,
and I don't even listen to that type of music,
I found out he lives in a group home
mentally disabled in some way or another
he said he dreams of owning his own house
and his own car,
he dreams that one day,
everybody will have heard his music,
and I hope he reaches those dreams
if anybody ever deserved to
it's the music man

"Sunny day we're having"
the man quipped
his head fixed firmly on the Formica bar
his words given time to die
and he is rewarded
with nods and broken English
we all knew -
it was sunny
swimming in the silence
not funeral silence,
but post love making silence
a comfortable,
relaxing silence
because it was still sunny
before the words were spoken

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

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 never cared for much,
born into a world
which changes faster than they
attachments lost in the dull facade of trends
attachments never made
hooked to quivering emptiness
they never cared for much
other than a second look
The big man flashed neon colors
from the corner of the room
sitting in a box
of demanding power
and their thoughts are contained
confined
by character limits
points of data
and ceaseless lifeless numbers
numbers which scrawl the wall
like days left of a sentence
they see their souls
on the empty bus stops
and bleak dark houses
rocking in the stale night wind
and their cups never fell empty
nor did their lungs go long
without suffering
trying to find some chemical reaction
which might dissolve the world around
like mad scientists
they didn't care for much
only a yawn
a yawn
and an illusion

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.

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?

Write a poem
To keep from
Throwing in the old towel
The towel of easy life
Not full of strife
Or exams, homework, and tests
You're not the best yet
Just on the way
Shrugging off layers of grey
And hopeless
Knock knock jokes
Drowning without a hope
In the fields of grain
Too numb to actually feel the pain
The pain of consistency
Complacency
Ad agencies
And bone shattering realizations
It's an odd sensation
Bouncing off the walls
Smoking water falls
Like we're sitting in the sin bin
This poem is ending
Henned in a caged pen
Traveling salesmen
Drop safety pins of fraternity logic
Don't get sick
We could be gone tomorrow
But hasn't that always been the case?

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

Cast against the grain of all things
wandering the earth
from small town to hamlet to big city dreaming
gleaming every small ounce of life
fought desperately over
magpies chasing shiny glints in the darkness
Each piece of ground earned
a victory
go with the sun on your back in the morning
and in your face at the end of the day
Westward like pioneers of old
and if there’s no new ground to find
we will make some for ourselves
so that our dreaming heads
might have a leg to stand on
It’s just the way she goes
Lady Luck is up there laughing at me
as I crawl on my belly from place to place
lusting after her touch
my Goddess wearing gypsy shawls
and no shoes
egging me on
another step towards the last

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

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

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

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

The title didn't lie, this one is not a poem, but a promotion of the expansion of poetry. Do yourself a favor and look up "the poet is ******" by Cecil otter on YouTube. Warning - it is a hip hop song, but it is also one of my favorite poems.

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

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

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

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

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"

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

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

******* 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the streets are comfortably empty right now
silent save for the trash blowing down the streets
the murmur of an engine and the slapping of tires
but danger lurks off screen
a constant constant
men with nothing to lose but their desperation
and still the air is sober and calming
my head is racing and I am losing
I didn’t even show up on time
we all want to think we make the decisions
we all balk at responsibility
we have excuses
faces to point fingers at
I came upon a homeless man sleeping in a doorway
by almost tripping upon his pair of emaciated, ratty legs
he was sleeping
an absurd notion in his situation
just right there on the street
in some strange doorway
beneath an array of indifferent stars and galaxies
I stood there watching him for a moment
which felt like hours
and I don’t think this man dreams
I think for him a night of safe sleep
in a doorway
is his waking dream
Turning around I left him there
and the quiet streets of the city I love so dearly
seemed a lot less quiet

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.

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 ******

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

Friend zoned
dethroned
no more primrose
visions of a future untold
so you complain
she always goes for the ones with no brain
well it's a no brainer
you have to save her
right?
no wrong
this isn't some ******* love song
and you don't get to win the girl every time
by being the sensitive sort of guy
there has to be something in your *****
which give you courage to make the calls
the choices you've avoided
which would have let you down her halls,
but you never did
the friendship
was just too **** perfect
to try and evolve
so now you devolve
into beer whiskey and ****
oh aren't you such a knight
atop your noble steed?
you won't succeed
until you put the feeling
that your wheeling and dealing
will somehow strengthen some glass ceiling
but you complain
and ***** and moan
and say
"It's not fair, I'm in the friend zone."
when really it was you
who didn't own up to
all the things you were supposed to do

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

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 day fades away
Black and grey
And black and grey
Until all that is left
Is cerebral thoughts
Bouncing against the shattered window pane
Which shows the way
To everything we are too scared to know
The sacred truths of our flaws
Too beautifully ugly to be recognized
Too perfectly imperfect to fit the leftover jigsaw pieces
Jesus pieces ring with fibs of green backs
And crack was distributed to poor neighborhoods
So a lot of the time a welfare check or food stamp
Ends up more like "my bad"
And no news crews roll through
Unless the person who died
Shares my skin color
White guilt making me feel less stable
In my bitchings and moanings
Like my bad feelings couldn't possibly land heavy
Like haymakers
Growing up we used to jump from hay bails
Landing in loose straw
Running away from farmers and their
Combine harvesters
Now I run from life
Too afraid to jump from the ground floor
Into the clouds
Life is hard
Living it the way you want is harder

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

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"

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

You are all pigs
Well what does that make you?
Sweetheart, I'm no stranger
To drinking too much
And wasting my potential
You are no stranger
To having overshot your potential
And being an over-serious, pretentious *****
No, you are just some dumb kid
High on your impotent,
Pseudo-self-righteous rage
Yeah, and you're just some *****
Too afraid of the clinking
Of your own die
No, I'm just under appreciated
I'm a ******* visionary
Your head melts obviously
Gasoline ruining this perfect puddle
With ******* ******* rainbows
I wish you wouldn't swear
I wish this world worked right
And I really wish
We weren't all
Just a bunch of filthy pigs

"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 *****

I've found that
all of the major moments
can be captured
in that one exhalation
of the cigarette,
A post ****** drag
a shared smoke with a stranger
a shared smoke with a new friend
it's the smoke which makes us
which defines us
whether we blow it out at once
or in a tiny stream
personally,
I like to blow it all out at once
before inahling it all back in
it calms me
it clears me
it wakes me up
and puts me to sleep
and everything in between
In the breath of a cigarette
I can forget
every other breath
which has come before
or which may come
cleansing
cleansing
cleansing
cancer

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

It's a hot commodity
yeah it's expensive
but it's worth it
so reach into those wallets
plastic only please
if you don't buy this
your kids won't fit in
they won't excel
this is just what's in right now
what's a little cash
when compared to being current
so keep on marching
left right left right
cows on a conveyor belt
about to be killed
shipped out and consumed
our brains
such a hot commodity

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

There was a wolf once
majestic and noble
lone but for his disciples
and he owned his territory
from the edge of the forest
all the way to the outskirts
of humanity
But he wasn't content
the people in the village
shunned and shooed him
he could taste their fear
and didn't know why
"cant they see it?
I am no different from them
yet they call me a liar
I couldn't be one of them
just a primordial beast"
So the wolf went on being a wolf
knowing it wasn't right
but every time
the moon grew full
the villagers could hear
the howls of the wolf
as he cried boy
over and over again
into the empty darkness