He wandered a winding path,
through a wood he'd never traversed before.
No particular destination, he would know when he arrived.
The birds chirped and a spring doe darted through the brush somewhere.
He saw sunbeams dance through the budding trees
and felt the cold steel clutched in his hand and he thought
"It is a good enough day, for this sort of walk."
The wind blew,
mixing the music of the birds with that of it's hollow whistle.
The trail broke suddenly, disappearing  like a magicians rabbit.
Sun flooded his eyes, dazzling the senses.
He squinted, seeing a small and lonely field, grass blowing gently,
as if giving him a solemn bow.
The light warmed his cheeks,
and he thought, "Ah this, this spot is good enough."
The walk to the fields center was longer,
then he thought it would be.
And strange,
he couldn't hear the birds anymore.
But he could feel the cold steel clutched in his hand and he,
pressed it to his chin with a BANG... and he thought nothing.
But the wind still blew, and the sun still shone, and the day,
was still good enough.

the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...

we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.

I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...

and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.

the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.

I knew a wolf who dressed like sheep
with smiling eyes and hidden teeth.
Calmly through the flock he'd step.
Preaching life, and meaning death.

Once upon a dreary day,
he found a lamb who'd gone astray.
Lined with silver was his tongue,
a spectacle for one so young.

Nearly at the speed of light,
the wolf sprang forth and made his strike.
And not a sheep would hear the crunch,
of the wolf, enjoying lunch.

The public should be wiser,
our wealth controlled by misers.
Breed more sheep for the pasture,
bow down before the master.

When it comes to worldly knowledge,
you don't need to go to college.
Scare tactics promote the system,
tie us down in neo-serfdom.

An age in great need of regression,
back before the planets oppression.
We all get weaker by the hour,
lets rise up and take back the power.

So let us tear up all the concrete,
we will once again sow the Earth.
Rip the ruling class from their seat,
chaos will bring us our rebirth.

Sometimes,
Sometimes I can't sleep as horrors unforgotten slip their way through the thin veneer I have strung across a dark corner of my mind to hide these thoughts from the light of day.
On these nights,
On these nights I smoke a cigarette in shadows unbroken by the dim city lights and listen to a lonely cricket chirp and know at least we stand together in this midnight rendezvous.
In that I find peace.
Sometimes,
Sometimes I find myself unwilling to rise from my cold bed and face another strife filled day in a world full of challenge and misery that I was not asked but forced into.
Sometimes,
Sometimes I find my mind consumed by fear and hatred and anxiety inspired by a lifetime of bad decisions and worse luck in a seemingly never ending spiral of **** ups and shame.
But other times,
other times I find the smallest moments of bliss can rekindle the spirit and remember that goodness put forth will return if in nothing more than clear conscience and a light heart.
In the little things, I find peace.

You.
You are what once stayed my hand from rage.
You once blocked my lips from every bottle,
with your lips.
You are what once prevented tar from coating my lungs,
and you kept hate from filling my heart.
You once prevented my untimely demise.
You.
You are now every punch I throw and take in return,
You are every ounce of liquor that filters through my kidneys.
You are now every carcinogen I too often inhale,
You still keep my heart from hate,
Because you filled it to bursting with sorrow.
You are what I now follow to my grave.
You.

I’ve wandered ‘round,
From home to home.
And found one truth,
All stones erode.
Whether wind, or rain or steel pick-axe,
All stones erode,
It’s just a fact.
So when I lay, for my final rest
I have to say I think it’s best.
Forgo a stone, that will not last.
But plant a tree, Oak, Fir or Ash!
For as time passes, and memories go,
All stones erode, but the tree will grow.