“...I have no time for the ignorance of others.”
said the fool
“I know what I’m doing. I can handle my own ****,
thank you very much.”
Said the marked man
“I’ve still got plenty of time to salvage this thing.”
said the wrongful optimist
“okay, smarty-******* - what would you do?”
Said the *******
“I do just fine on my own. Im better off.”
Said the man, too focused on not drowning
to see the land all around him
“I’m better than that guy, why should I have to wait?”
said the novice
“I just need some more time to practice.”
said the wary apprentice
“I just need some free time”
said Mr. Self-deception - Self-appeasement
“I just need to rest my eyes.”
said Mr. I’m going to pass out on this couch
“I love you.”
said the stepping razor
“I’m happy.”
said the drug addled hobo
“I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, I promise.”
said the teenager with a penchant for trouble,
as he stole smokes from his sleeping parents
“I need you to tell me how ******* incredible I am,
so I can tell you how wrong you are
with a real nice feeling in my gut
like a double shot of let it be”
said the silly little wannabe artist
“***** this place. **** all of these
over emotional teenagers
and **** this sanctuary
for circle jerking back patting”
said the sore loser
“Can I start you guys with something to drink?”
said the street corner beggar
as he looked for five dollars
to eclipse the gas light
of the speeding hatchback
“I wish you wouldn’t worry so much about me.”
said the skeleton covered in skin,
tendons,
sinews,
and strained muscles shaking from the nerves
“Want to go out tonight?”
said the bored future adult
running away from the sunset
“I just have no luck.”
said the guy who didn’t spend enough time
breaking walls and knuckles
in the basement of anonymity
“What do you have to say to that?”
Said Harry J. Baxter -
the smart-assed kid
in a 20 year old’s body
with an expensive pen
and dime store poetry
falling out the pockets
of his sagging pants
“What do you have to say?”
Said the empty blank pages
of the happily chaotic universe

Wear your heart beneath your sleeve
don't buy into the hype
people become a lot less interested
once they've seen your heart,
instead,
let them see your sleeve ripple
with each passing beat
so that the people might say
"what was that,
beneath your sleeve"
and you just smile back
"I have no idea what you're talking about"

don't give me clouds
and pearly gates
apple cheeked cherubs
and glorious holy bugles
give me warm white sand
as far as the eye can see
give me me sapphire oceans
give me tiki torches
and string me up a hammock
give me life sculpted around peace
give me her
give her me
make it so her eyes
are the first thing I see
and her closed eyelids
the last
on a daily basis
give me an audience
who I can try to show
how even the ugliest things
have enough beauty
to steal your very oxygen
to make your heart
take a moment to observe
hot passionate blood
standing still
in the vessels of your story
this is all I ask
of an afterlife

to make it to heaven
you have to wade through hell
the pearly gates are hidden inside the gaping maw of a black sea monster
and with just you
your two hands
two feet
left brain
right brain
you have to walk through the fire
feel the parts of you which are not essential burn away
and by the time you're through hell
you realize that heaven isn't a place
it's person you saw in the mirror all of those years ago
that the lives we live imprisoned on the other side of the glass

A fist split the silence
the hard packing sound
followed by a liquid clogged choke
and Joe went under the water
limp in my arms
crimson red permeating through the cool blue salt water
of my parents’ pool
Nolan rubbing his hand - laughing
**** I didn’t mean to actually hit him
and we all laughed because it was a play fight
we were young, looking for answers which didn’t exist
so we filled the void like many of us did
with the seething, impotent aggression of youth
It went Gangsta rap
to punk rock
to heavy metal
and Joe and Nolan were in a band
and Joe and Nolan professed their love of Satan
because Satan never made them sit still and be quiet
they burned bibles and summoned demons
from an online version of the Necronomicon
and we went to shows
at fourteen and fifteen
drinking beer and whiskey in the alley out back
with all of the local rock stars
we hurled ourselves -
arms draped around each others’ shoulders -
into the swirling whirlwind of fists
and studded leather
and sweat and beer and blood
where grown men punched us in the face
and we gave back as good as we got
hugging afterwards in the warm glow of our pain
we were alive on the front lines
hanging from the edge that everybody else strayed from
domesticated wolves scared of electric fence flags
Nolan went crowd surfing at the Municipal Waste concert
only to be dropped into a stomping pile of ******* kids
his lips split open and I gave him my bandanna to soak up the blood
I still have that ***** rag around here somewhere
He needed six stitches inside his lower lip
but we didn’t leave until after the show
even when the fire marshals came to shut us down
when ceiling fans and trash cans were being thrown around like beach *****
we were just kids
confronted with the meaninglessness of everything we had been raised to hold on to
like life rafts
we were just kids to whom
destruction seemed far more important
than creation
if we were ever going to make anything for ourselves
in this concrete clad hell scape

I have seen hell
and let me warn you
don't pack for warmth
hell
so cold
that even the ice cracks
breath comes out
as diamond spears
tearing apart innards
to shatter
among rubies of blood
Hell is every child
who ends up in an office
In fact hell is offices
countless numbers of them
for as far as the eye can see
soulless
lifeless
greedy
Every child who was told
that he was crazy
that in this world
the dreamers
are synonymous
with the failures
and so they sleep
millions of them around the world
sleeping restlessly
dreams which will never come
inside each one of these
dreamers turned adult
you can hear him laughing
idle hands...
you know how it goes
and eventually
when they are finally broken
when death seems as if it's a treat
he shows them
He shows them years spent
poor and hungry
he shows them
endless rejection
and alienation
But
he also shows them
love
passion
satisfaction
A lifetime of dreams
which will never become reality

this life
has taken me places
sweet
and bitter
beautiful
and ugly
and best of all
beautifully ugly
I never expected to be where I am
and sometimes it can be a real
*****.
But that being said
I write poems every day
and ******* is that cool
and maybe they aren't good
but I couldn't care less
because they are mine
and I think I'd like to see
just where they take me
yeah it hasn't always been smooth
and I know I still have
a lot of rough patches
further on down the road
but it is surely going to be
one hell of a ride

A year ago I was sitting in my room
dropping out of college
I found a pen and an old notebook
which I got for my creative writing class
in high school
So I picked it up, unsure of what was going to happen
but I wrote a poem called in my dreams
without meaning to
Dude, poetry is gay
but It seemed I had a taste for it
a week later I was writing to drown out the sound
of my roommate fighting with his girlfriend
and the couple was born

I was a secret drop out
I even made up a class schedule
so I would go at varying hours on varying days
to any cafe which had cheap coffee and free wifi
and I would write these ****** little poems
saved in a google docs folder called
poetry
I used to ***** around on the web too much
stuff like stumbleupon
and I found all of you beautiful sons of *******
a strange old website called hellopoetry.com
facebook for those young or foolish enough
to call themselves poets
I was skeptical
I’ve never been a fan of other writers in my atmosphere
but I’ll be ****** If I didn’t fall in love
with the ***** old dog
I wrote and I wrote and I wrote
I may not have been the best
but you can’t spell prolific without pro
and when I finally hit
100,000 views
it was like losing my virginity all over again
only not as awkward and drunk

I’ve been pottering around on here for a year now
and every person who read my work
every angel which clicked follow
Got to see me bang my head against the keyboard
in dark rooms on even darker days
and they’ve seen some of my best work
definitely some of my worst
and I’ve met some genuinely great people along the way
I only hope that you all know who you are
So let’s raise a glass to the year passed
and celebrate
a bunch of wild poet… things
and here’s to another year
of weird little poems

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.

So here's the thing,
baby girl, sugar sugar
should i tell you of the future
would you be interested to know
the tale of our unseen flow
without skipping a single high or low?
Well then I'm going to disappoint you again
i'm not perfect, just a guy clad with paper and pen
but then again
you always preferred men
who didn't prefer themselves
because they are trouble
and with a little help from you
you make it double
or triple
I was never very good with numbers

But baby soothsaying behind us
I'd like to say
I really love how you are wound up
maybe a little too tight
but what's love if there is no fight
like day without the night
so put it behind you
in a box filled with yesterdays
i feel very inclined to
just let you know
I think you're so beautiful
even on days when you don't feel very useful
and in those times when life seems too brutal
to you I will always try to be truthful
because I'm your biggest fan
who goes to your shows
always following your tour van
and lets be real
nobody knows
what the future holds
but we know how we feel,
so take a leap with me
because I'm not trying to be corny but...
I'm pretty sure you complete me
so come and meet me
where ever the hell you want
because you are really somebody
I ought to flaunt

Hot ****
would you just
look at her
She walks with a strut
which seems to say
"Just ******* try me"
and she looks like she's
seen her fair share
of chaotic emotional explosions
and ugly violent church choirs
and there's something about her eyes
maybe an electric charge
but I can't look away
and I'm afraid to look into them
No make up
because why the hell would she wear any?
Not objectively perfect
but a perfect object to this subject
Strong females
just draw me in
because they got strong
after they were broken
beaten bruised and ******
only to get back up
and spit in life's face
overtly toxic venom
the way her hips sway with each step
her shoulders behind her
chin raised
I'd like to ask for her name
maybe her digits
but she'd tell me her name is
Unclaimed
and she has never owned a cell phone
but maybe tomorrow
I'll see her again
walking past me on Broad
or across from me on Grace
swaggering her way
into my heart
so she can stomp on it
with her stiletto heels
that would be pretty nice

the same toothless chatter heard always
bruised biceps scratched with defensive wounds
too hungover for spanish class
so it’s a bowl of kief for the remedy
I’m singing in the rain
only it’s sunny out
and the toads are all escaping
hop up on another high
and scrape up against a new low
are we there yet?
Rock Bottom looks a lot like your apartment
forge filigreed with fools gold
black eyes and sore knees
soaking wet sleeping in a doorway
so long as the DMT is purple and not orange
then we’ll soon be biblical prophets
touched by God so that we could better understand
that the dishes aren’t going to do themselves
ever tried to pronounce psilocybin when you’re tripping?
cough medicine has another meaning
it’s just like the music videos
only my heart is exploding
my chest caving in
and the hurricane inside my head is blind
spark up another sweet
and pour another glass of sour
be well rested
tomorrow you’ve got another spanish class to not go to  

I just took too much
all of these walls are still spinning
******* I’m high

The first time
that my mother caught me
smoking *** with my friend
in the backyard
she asked me
"Why can't you just
get high on life?"
and I'll be honest
I was ****** at the time
so I laughed
which she said
was the saddest part about it all

I've given it some thought since then
and it seems more terrifying
and less funny
every single day
because I have tasted life
the man on the corner
offered me
two grams of life
for forty dollars
so I went into my room
and had myself a life ******
and I never will again
At times you feel so elated
that if you stood up
on your tip-toes
and strained
you would simply float away

At times it feels as if every cell of your body
is burning with holy fire
everything is a threat
and ******* you want what's yours
and sometimes
what isn't
You feel as if every pair of eyes
should pay a toll
to look at your own
you feel as if
you just chugged
a barrel of nitro glycerin
all it takes is one lonely spark
and then
boom

At times you feel like
your whole world
was set up
just to cave in
when you are at
your most vulnerable
when you have lost all faith
something comes along
and shows you
that you can in fact
lose some more
valleys deeper
than the earth's core
lonely and cold
a hail storm
of knives

The worst times
are the times in between
the ennui
which constantly creeps forward
like the hands on a clock
when all you want
is for that day to be over
so that you can wish the same thing tomorrow
and the next day
and the day after that
hoping to maybe feel
just anything
life users don't have track marks
their cross is one made of
slit wrists and ashtrays
and howls to a God
you're not sure exists

Life
not even once

The closest I ever came to understanding poetry
was in that crowd, at that hip hop show
and I know you're thinking
"come on kid, rap isn't poetic"
but i could never forget it
the live band blending seamlessly
the predetermined rhythms a symphony
which carried me away to infinity
And when my savior
clutched that microphone in his hand
it began to dawn on me
save your understandings, be one in a crowd
the words flowed out from the mic like jazz
and I knew that i didn't have to worry about being seen as
an over privileged, over educated, over sheltered
white boy who would toy with the idea of fitting a scene
it's more than just a phase
I'll take every last E.P. to the grave
and I will always support
those who have something to say.

It was okay to be lost
nobody is born with a map
but through that rap
I found the pace I'd like to walk at
until I'm in a lovely place, free from my fat
where street preachers use their words
like hot air balloons
and carry me away into the clouds
it seemed certain that I had found my crowd

It’s funny how despite different tastes
we all have a taste for music
my life has never felt complete
with a soundtrack. A beat
as a kid I was told not to fidget
told to just sit still
but my person was anything but chill
I have always had a thing for rhythm
I felt it in the way people speak
the way a husband sneaks around
keeping his wife trapped and meak
whether it is weak or strong
I could always hear that drumming song
It started with a rap song I heard
Hi My Name Is by eminem
but then again it had always been with me
it’s the reason time scares me
because in the beating tick of those two drum sticks
I could see the sound of life wasted
and it made me want to get wasted
black out drunk at fatal altitudes
when I was in middle school
we were angry
and disrespectfully spiteful
so we rocked long socks and listened to punk rock
then It was about being a bad guy
a real force not to be reckoned with
so we wore black Tshirts depicting violent scenes
and joined the screaming heavy metal mosh pit
a place to fit for all the kids who didn’t anywhere else
as I got older I put the heavy metal on the shelf
if I’m being honest it was all just a little silly
angsty teens with lofty dreams which they told us
were unattainable so we went out looking for cheap thrills
rather than develop any marketable skills
The first time I felt marketable
it gave me chills
The National in Richmond Virginia
an old theatre
converted into a sanctuary for the sanctimonious masses
to forget everything they learned in their classes
a place where kicked *****
wasn’t always a bad thing
I remember I was there
in the tenth grade
to see the Atmosphere show
because the lead singer - Slug
was my hero
his words enveloped me in a bear hug
which said you’re doing just fine kid
and in that crowd of tattoos and hipsters
and the ghetto kids wearing chips on their shoulders
I was high
but not on drugs
I was high on expressionism and the loftiness of ideas
The men behind the microphone
wearing a costume of stage lighting and swaggering egos
made me feel at home
for the first time in a while
they said things like God Loves Ugly
and Every Day Can’t be the Best Day
and the DJ’s worked the turntables
like a good lover brings their partner to ******
I didn’t know anybody else at the show
but don’t think for a minute that I was alone
we were all connected as brothers by bond and spilled blood
of our heros who were cut short before they could say the things
which we all needed to hear
We respect the story tellers
because it is how we come to terms with tougher aspects of life
and I was flying high on the dreams of kids just like me
saluting the scarred, worn, souls who had made it
who were making the path that we would one day walk
with the cut of their jive and the strength of their talk
***** of the walk
chalked outlines of the end of loneliness
They called us hop heads
and we’d reply
you’re ******* right we are
hip hop didn’t save my life
it just stopped me from taking me
for granted

hit the road Jack
and don't you come back
no more no more no more no more
walking like a blind man
who lost his dog
hit the road Jack?
don't worry
I don't want to come back
how could I
this wasn't love
it was necessity
It was survival
and it was rightfully wrong
Don't worry about seeing me
ever again
the road is the only mistress I need
the dust on the cuffs of my jeans
tell my story
far better than any poem I pen
any song you create
So I'll hit the road
but with a love tap
never to come back
no more no more no more no more

The man on the phone
told him that rent was due
by five o'clock
rent which was not there
but five was seven hours away
and he had this feeling
that seven hours was a good distance
to put between him and Richmond
so he packed up his clothes
his old jeans and plaid button downs
and his typewriter
that old clunky *******
which made such sweet music
he stuffed it all into a backpack
and left his keys in the apartment
as the door closed for him
for the last time

He left Virginia behind
and headed west
he spent a night or two in Memphis
drinking cheap bourbon from a plastic bottle
and dancing with some pretty little thing
as Johnny Cash played over the radio
He took his car
and passed through
Fort Smith Arkansas
but he didn't stay too long
He made a few bucks
cleaning glasses in a ****** old bar
in Oklahoma City
sleeping in the small room
upstairs
He made it to Amarillo Texas
and thought that he might just stay
under the dead pan
Texas sun
but he was restlessly being chased
by his memories and fears
His car broke down
in Albuquerque
so he hopped on a train
heading to Phoenix
but Phoenix was tough
and alien
and he got footloose
real quick
He hitched out of there
with a ****** cardboard sign
which read simply
"West"
and he met some strangers
and made some new friends
before he found himself
in fallen angel country
Hollywood heart breaks
and smog covered starlight
with no more road left to travel
he'd been coast to coast
he settled down
like the pioneers who came before him
and burned his maps
just a *****,
road weary,
traveler
with a typewriter
and dusty worn jeans
a traveler who made his way home

Everybody's got their own words
You quote mine
Everybody's got their own story
I wrote mine
Everybody thinks I'm ******* nuts
Wanna hold mine?

take a walk to air out my skull
the summer on a week long break
no sweat forming on the brow
the cemetery almost empty
on this Saturday Morning
graves, mausoleums, and monuments
as far as the horizon will carry them
all contained by the twisting limbs
of great ancient trees
I am worrying about things
like the rent and the electricity bill
and the milk and sugar
azucar y leche
and how many cigarettes I have been smoking
these men and women
will never be alive again
to worry about such silly things
victims of the civil war
brother against brother
victims of the passing of time
breath against breath
one and all
strolling down riverwalk ave
the old train tracks running along
the spine of the James
always flowing
streaming
as birds dip in and out of the banks
and the shin high grass sways
with the music of pleasant mornings
and see a family
small children running up the grass hills
only to sprint back down at double speed
not a moment spent out of breath
and I think back to that time
when we found a quiet corner
and let the lighter light up a bowl or two
for the dead homies
and how much we laughed when one of us fell
and how much we gasped
when we saw the small tent village
of homeless people living in the wooded outskirts
their clotheslines bare in the gentle breeze
How insane it is
that we should all
walk through this park
the scent of what life promised us
fresh in the air
as we lazily stroll
through a vast field of corpses
immortalized through monumental history

He wakes up before the sun
Park benches and alleyways
cardboard boxes and piles of coats
he has nests all over the city
strategically placed
near the corner shop
fast food places
and liquor stores
on a good day
he can buy three
twenty-two ounces of Budweiser
so that by night time
he can forget himself
forget you
forget me
forget his home
a damp concrete floor
and a shirt pocket
filled with loose cigarettes
He wakes up before the sun
until the day comes
when he won't

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.

Open it up
fill up your cup
like gulp gulp gulp
it's the drink of the lord
it's the **** you abhored
its my lifeblood
back from on tour
and it tastes like PBR
and sounds like broke guitars
it smells like ash and tar
and is sticky like cali trees
cold enough to freeze
thick like spoiled milk
poured down the kitchen sink
but feel free to take it
I just can't seem to shake it
all of these mistakes and ****
listen up kids
if you ever had a dream of making it big
you gotta follow that *****
so lace up your stiches
on the bottom of your feet
let your heart skip a beat
and chase it
because
not everybody lives
quite the way they wanna live
but as long as you give
everything that you've got
you won't stop
drop and roll
until your soul goes pop pop pop
it's out of control
so reach for the top shelf
not good for your health
but nowadays what is?
you've got nothing else
to hold on to
pierced heart like a harpoon
feel it in your chest
the rise of the slow doom
just throw on a vest
dance around your bedroom
You'll hit that success
your own little boom
boxed up and sold
to the young and old
to people outside the fold
but I guess
what I'm really saying is
don't get upset
when they say you're just a crazy kid
go ahead and take this life
and make it a vacation trip
because honesty
is the hot commodity
and you have to let them take it

Beware the honest man
For honest men have nothing to hide

I need you
The most beautiful three words I know
in the morning you are my first thought
and I keep you close to me throughout the day
I smell you on my fingers
and feel the urge claw its way through my nerves
and If I go too long without you
I’m nothing but flushed sweats
and anxious nail biting and fidgety hands and feet
If I have to wait any longer
I get cranky
every voice a whip crack of annoyance
I need you
at night I can’t sleep without you
and I am self-aware
hopelessly addicted
it’s always been one of my themes
and I have no interest in the science behind it
just the simple statement of humanity it bares
I need you
and if I can’t reach you
I’m willing to do whatever it takes
just to get another taste
hopelessly addicted

He had no name to call his own
no true home either
he had been following his footsteps into unknown
for an unknown amount of time
days, weeks, months, years?
the convalescent bond he shares with his heart and his gut and his spine
meander around and through his humanity
tributaries of some God sized river
when the night comes around
he hunkers down in a suitable place
and drifts off to restless sleep
his legs twitching with excitement like an old dog’s dreams
he is a biblical figure in a non-biblical world
he drinks too much and vomits up cringe inducing truths
let’s things slip
but all in the name of honesty
all in the name of passion
all in the name of the nameless father who cast him out from Eden
he roams with the cold, the hungry, the tired, the poor
he roams through crack deals on Y street
and date rapes on Laurel
he roams and roams and roams until sneakers become slippers become bare feet
riddled with blisters turned callous
he roams with the forever sleepy drunks who murmur nothings at nobody
he has a harmonica and he plays a song called love
sleeping under the divine sanctity of cathedral steps
smelling like the James River
Norfolk salt in his hair
and a tan that only comes with those who have a pinch of Southern Soil in their blood
he roams seeking out the answers that we didn’t have the time or courage
to pursue

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

how's it going Harry?
how do you feel?
I'm not sure if it is going
the hands on my clocks
haven't budged an inch
in a long time
how's it going?
I hide from certain thoughts
my mind
no longer a place of safety
an intellectual get away
the world has invaded
and taken up a residency
which I hope isn't permanent
My wallet has been empty for a while
unemployed
no degree
and I only have three cigarettes left
how's it going?
I can't complain
I could
but it would be useless

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

Don't be a human being
be a human doing
inspirational fallout
raining on the students of my high school
human doing
it's a funny notion
viewed in plain sight
it meant Carpe Diem
it meant go to college
your valuable brains
crammed with academia
get a job
work your way up
it's the American dream
it is your
Manifest Destiny
meet a swell girl
take her to a chapel
cracked church bells
shattered stained glass windows
now knock her up
you've got a family
better start breaking a sweat
get that promotion
buy yourself a nice suit
because you earned it
******* it
pay your taxes
keep on climbing
up up up
the tower of babel
rack up some zeroes to that pay check
vacation time and comfortable insurance
plus you get dental
year after year
and before you knew it
you're an old guy
your belly has grown
far more rotund than you planned
your wife resents you
because she relies on you
and you don't understand your children
the job has grown bitter
a double shot of cheap bourbon
only it doesn't burn as sweetly
on the way down
and when you feel like
you're enclosed in a tar pit
black liquid creeping down your throat
and up your nostrils
take comfort in knowing
that you were a human doing

have you ever given your life to the ethereal?
shapes and faces forming in the night time hours
you don't know their names
nor their stories
but you know they are people who make you feel good
their stories level out the chaos of yours
they are from far away places
they are the people with far away problems
that make yours seem so finite
they dance beneath the glowing full moon
they dance until their bodies tire desperately
they say your name like a holy entity
they breathe out the sighs you breathe out in pain
they text you in the dead hours
hey, how're ya doin?
and you reply
better now
and that is all there is to it
to the choreographed dance of humanity

You spend lone enough waiting tables
or washing cars
or standing behind a register
and you feel a part of you
that played thumb wars and jump rope
die just a little
yeah I know the plight of the proletariat is cliched
but that doesn't mean it's not there
you feel the disdain grow
and even more so
you get hungry
and no ham 'n cheese can fix that
hunger nor nutrition
but for any small sign that all of the toiling
might just pay off.
Well if I go another day without eating that meal
I might just crack
drive my car into oncoming traffic
take as many suckers with me
then they might remember my name

forgotten hunger
the echo of dull aches
crawl out of my stomach
and erupt neglected into the big wide world
they scream "FEED ME"
over and over again
"the last maniac I was with
wouldn't listen"
I walk around with a hole
instead of a stomach
light headed
every poem I write
is another hole
knifed into my belt
but it's one less distraction
and if i keep it up
maybe I can disappear entirely
and wouldn't that be nice

Hey
When you feel down
Just remember
You aren't dead yet
So you just do your job
And keep on ******* living

Ice cream dreams
come to fruition
in a post adolescent summer timer
the pretty girls
walking up and down the block
where white short shorts
and tight band T shirts
show me you can smile baby,
just for me
like the old times
the before times
the times when life was just
a little bit simpler
I'm an ice cream man
nothing more
than a hell of a way
to cool off

It's been a long and strange trip. but don't fret - it isn't yet at the end point. I've always loved the morning, but I'm far from a morning person. Which seems pretty symbolic to me, but I'm an English major so it's kind of my job to be overly analytic. The hardest part about growing up is keeping track of who you are, and trying to figure out if who you are going to be matches with who you want to be. The smell old Bukowski's ashtray clings to my clothes. and everything that I don't have the courage to say out loud can be seen in my eyes and the lines of my face. And I know this will sound absolutely ******* ridiculous - but in modern society it's hard to be a man. gone are the days of Clint Eastwood kicking *** and taking names. All we have now are morons and ****** bags. I read somewhere that we are the quitting generation, and that ****** me off. Because the faults of the current generation are always due to the previous generation. But people are ******* by nature who can't take responsibility when their plants begin to wilt. And my Dad quit on me - not the other way around. And I know that this probably isn't fun to read - but frankly I don't give a ****. This isn't something which is going to be published - more so some much needed venting space. And I'm trying to figure out how to bring this thick wall of rambling text to an end, but endings don't really exist. Just unknown places which can not be followed. so instead of assaulting your eyes and your poetic sensibilities for another ten lines I will say this: If you read this and didn't immediately think of killing me or yourself, then thank you. If you did, then feel free to pretend I never had the gall to write such an ugly, boring, self-indulgent piece. And I hope you all have a nice a day

I’d write you a love song
but my ears lack the right components
and I would write you a ballad
if I actually knew what that is
I would make the hands on the clock
stand still so that we might share an infinity of moments
but all of my clocks are digital
I would buy you a whole closet and then some
fancy restaurants and swanky clubs
but I have five bucks and bills to pay
I would be honest with you
only I have such a hard time being honest with myself
I would be brave at all times
only I am riddled with fears of what comes next
I’d paint you a picture of perfect
but perfect is a word made up to make us want more
I’d give you more
but right now I feel I’ve got nothing left
I’d love you and be with you
but I only want what I can’t have
I’d be everything you need
only I’m a lazy assed poet
so I wrote you this

we are young
and we maybe don't
fully know what
we are doing
or what we even are
But none of that matters
because If I know one thing
It's that I have always enjoyed
the time spent together
even if we went 2 hours without talking
I would never give those 2 hours back
I just want to say that I like you
and you don't have to like me back
Lord knows it's hard
but even if you hate me
or if I just didn't mean anything
I will be fine knowing
that I will always have
That one shared moment

allow me to get real
If I may
the car wash where I work *****
money is great
because I love to blow it
but work is soul crushing
sometimes I fantasize
about going to sleep
and never waking up
not suicide
just an infinite nothing
in one small **** I could be gone
and not have to worry
about letting down my crazy alcoholic mother
who I love more than I would've thought possible
or my absentee father
who has been a wallet whom I've grown a surprising attachment to
and you all read my poems
I scoff at even calling them that
but you read them
and maybe think,
I can relate
or I like his style
well lemme tell you something
my style is self destruction
***** stained sofas
and ****** faces
and there is no glamour to it
and I'll be the first to tell you
there's no glory
I'm in a hole
and I'm addicted to digging
but if I may
let me say this
don't worry about me
worry about you
worry about what will happen when we all wake up
and ask ourselves
what the **** have I been doing with my life
where did all of this time go
all I can say is this
if you aren't living
on your own terms
working towards whatever it is you SOB's love
then you might as well die now
because if you aren't living for passion
are you really living at all?

If I were a praying man
I'd pray that every athlete or actor -
Who held out on a deal
Because they wanted more -
Would get every type of cancer

If I were a religious man
I'd wage jihad upon
Every company which values
the lives of workers at pennies per hour
So they can sell excess to the poor
And watch them **** each other

If I had a god
He'd smite every shark
Which took thing of necessity
And turned them into poker chips
So they could pay tribute to a false idol

Yes, maybe these things could happen,
But I'm not a religious man
I'm a drunk/high man
And these thoughts
Are just a night's sleep away
From being forgotten

If I were Jesus Christ,
I'd take all of your insecurities and taboos
and turn them
inton beautiful hymns,
If i were Jesus Christ
you wouldn't pray to me
instead,
once a day
you would tell the people you love
how you really feel about them
If I were Jesus Christ
cheesy teenage love letters
would be in the book of gospel
and if I were Jesus Christ
you wouldn't just love your neighbor
but your neighbor's neighbor's neighbor
and If I were Jesus Christ
I would take all of your tears
and transform them
into wine
so that we might forget
the harshness of the world

She was just sitting there
over on the curb
looking lovely
and beat up
and tired and hungry
too perfectly imperfect
to pass up.

So I walk on over
trying to think of the best line
I've got
but I've always been better
off the top of my head
when I can find it
so I said to her

listen up sweet heart
I'm the kinda guy
who keeps his cigarettes
close to his chest
You listening?
because I'm the kinda guy
whose heart beats
and gut growls
all for you
so how about
you and I
go back to my place
and wait for tomorrow to wake up?

So things were good
for a while there
Maybe even great
but years of strong loving
only led to
scar tissue
and more scar tissue
all of it so bitter
she(I) went nuts
throwing plates
Now,
no eats
no sleep
breath won't keep
beer though
so It's all good
because If I keep on
drinking like I drink
and smoking like I smoke
living like I live
then I'll be dead by sixty five

so when you go out looking for love
be careful,
because I found mine
and she killed me

If they come don't let them go
if they don't come
******* it go and find them
if they bore down on you
like a run away locomotive
well you just need to stand strong on the tracks
with a hole in your torso
and stream it through you
and if it may happen to pass you by
drag those mother ******* back
and sometime they only come in drug induced bouts of *****
well put it on your pallet and paint your picture
a beautiful ode to the obscene
if it comes out of you
like bullets
with a shotgun heart beat
sometimes they come gracefully
or not so gracefully
like fallen angels plummeting to earth
like shooting stars
and when it comes with rain
it pours until you are drowning
choking on endless poems and stories
If you are lucky
you can tame them
and it wouldn't be a question of if,
but rather when they come

the pile of books on my windowsill sits gathering dust
the pencils are swords instead of daggers
all the pen nibs are dry
the embers slowly starving
the smiles succumbing to gravity
and the grit's nothing but dust
if time is money
then we're in debt

a light breeze on bare chest,
while the sun bakes the sweat on your back
a deep breath of ocean air,
while the energy of a city runs through your veins
a moment of bliss,
while the world crumbles all around you

I could stay with you
I could give myself to you
put my tender frame
in the palm of your hand
like a newly hatched bird
you are the only one
I could ever be vulnerable to
yeah
I could stay with you
but It would **** me
far too footloose
the curse of a nomad
with no where else to go
and it's not you
I hate myself for not
being able to commit
but I think I have a responsibility phobia
or a fear of letting you down
I don't know
and try as I might
I can't change
and I'm not sure I want to
we live in different worlds
and I don't know when I'll be back
so I'm going to leave you
and it won't be the last time
and if you were smart
you'd throw me to the curb
for good
and you are smart
but love is blind
all I have to give you
are moments
which I will always cherish
and bittersweet memories
to wash away
the pain of the day
I hate to leave
but trust me
I don't have a choice

Don't even talk to me
about your ******* cat
I don't care
actually I do
I hate your cat
everything about it
Is that what you have to say?
is that all you came up with?
I want to hear
about your flaws
your contradictions
your addictions
your love
your long drawn out ****** struggle
I want something real
something which makes me more human
more alive
more prepared
emphatic to your apathy
I really am
but for the love of God
never talk to me
about that stupid cat
ever again

I know I shouldn't smoke
a pack a day
I know how bad it is
and how much money
the whole shebang

and I know I shouldn't drink
more days of the week
than not
I know that I do stupid things
like loosing in a drinking game
and being forced to sprint
up and down 6 flights of stairs
I know that I get all sappy
and promise girls
things I can't give
I know it's bad
that at the end of a day
I crave a drink
but sometimes
you just need to
get good and drunk

I know that I shouldn't smoke ***
spending most of my day high
up in the clouds
taking a nap
but it relaxes me
and it makes everything
seem so **** nice
and I know it's bad
to not be able to sleep
without toking up
I know it shouldn't be okay
to be bored
but hey
it makes ****** movies
a whole lot better
which is huge service
to people everywhere

I know the lifestyle's not too hot
and trust me
I know you know
and that you only want
what's best for me
but sometimes
you just have to make
some really bad decisions

All of the Richmond Hipsters
and time killing smokers are killing me
The hobos with broken thumbs
They just barely catch the bus
Late nights under the eastern stars
The City of almost-angels
beards and gauges and butts
Tatted up art chicks with more skin than clothing
Invite me over your threshold
Make me some supper, the coffee is in the ***
River tides carrying away the used condoms of the confused
Liquor breath, joints and e-cigs
Poets, painters, photographers
The air reeks of art and death
fist meets face meets pavement meets God
The good times are killing you, and I’m showering until the water runs cold
cough up my phlegm, it tastes like love
grinding against a stranger’s *** all night long - like it was all we knew
We couldn’t feel so we tried to touch
we fell short and drank from the puddles with gasoline rainbows
The bricks and cobblestones all have names that I will never know
Does anybody ever actually listen?
Life versus fun versus life versus death versus boring
Stack them up like tetris
The sun is sick with stories, the moon full of lies
And all the graffiti in the world won’t change that
snow sun rain sun blank canvases
hear the thunder of arrhythmic heartbeats
sweat drips and it tastes like ****
Black eyes on Bowe, black eyes on Goshen
Mad houses filled with gifted pianists
Ghetto driven dreams of another shot
Play that same acoustic guitar tune I like so much
I lost my harmonica in a storm drain
I lost my Mind in Richmond

Filtered cigarettes
Drawing smoke fibers
If I can't be free
I sure as hell can be numb
Free from dreams of freedom
Free from life
Free from you
Free from me
Doesn't everybody just want to be so ******* free?
Life is a movie
And I'm an off screen extra
Silently wandering
Corridors of thought
Looking for answers
In the wrong textbooks
Aren't I so free

I saw perfection once
out of the corner of my eye
it was so bright
that I could only look
for just a moment
but in that moment
I saw something
which made me question
if God might in fact
be shaping our lives
It was over before it started
and we all felt confused
and sedated
at ease with the world
as if we were ******
But I knew
that the perfect moment
would have been just another moment
if we weren't there
with the corner of our eyes
trapped in a moment