The page laughing at me the canvas cold and blank.
Winter filled room in the middle of june.
Why had my heart run a ground on such jagged shores.

Now I scavage for remains of my soul.
ragged I wonder would anyone remember me apon my return.
Would she stand smile apon face and regret in heart.

The page stayed empty for a reason.
They were all gone the great titles along with there writers.

Me the fool brave or foolish enough to  attempt the
impossible  with little to show for it.
A broken relationship and some bad tattoos  in
some  weird places.

To be stuck down in a  hollow .
Is fine  with suplies low and the truth a sober mind brings
time was ticking the false deadline was apon me.
And like a kid trying to cram in every answer on a school test.
I was stuggling  waitting for the teacher to say times up.

Hands shaking from the need throat dry  and a headache
that would last for a week.
Why had it always come to this  isolation.

Maybe it was the roads way of calling me back.
Like a lover calling me back to bed.
To entangle untill the mornings light.

Yet just like a passionet affair the struggle for the title
kept me trapped to this place for nights on end.
You cant grasp what is never yours its
like trying to see that sweet southern breeze.

Everytime you find  one with which your heart agree's
You find the titles taken.
life and love will always  bring you to your knees.


This is taken from what will be my first book
once through many long gin soaked nights is finally at it's final stages
and thank God cause it's been hell.
as of  now the title will be The Road Begins ?
Hell my friends if you can think of a better title to describe my writting feel free  to let me know   Always your slightly crazy  friend John Patrick Robbins

Call a                          doctor/ plumber/ priest
My heart is               broken/ leaking/ deceased
My life is                   worthless/ so much better/ over
I'm going to              **** myself/ tell your wife/ Dover
How could you         leave me/ not know/ lie?
I hope you                return my stuff/ come back/ die
I'll never                   forget you/ forgive you/ go away
I need                        closure/ a DNA test/ to tell you I'm gay
Your                           face/ crotch/ top of your back
Is                                so beautiful/ lumpy/ unusually slack
Your                           ex/ mother/ best friend from school
Always made me      great coffee/ feel inadequate/ drool
I will                           miss you/ **** you/ stalk you forever
That way we can      be friends/ get away with it/ be together
I'm sorry                   you did this/ I did this /we failed
I promise to               pay you/ dye it back/ get you bailed
Please don't               leave me/ show the Polaroids/ write or call

(*delete as appropriate, just delete it all.....)

You’re always laughing, always walking, always singing, always talking,
As long as you’re around, I won’t leave this funny town,
No matter how much I want to flee.
They won’t come for you and me.

It’s strange how this love happened,
So spontaneous and rapid,
Unlike me in every single way.
You showed up out of nowhere and the heavens sang some hymns,
And now the monotony of life has begun to dim.
So yes, darling, please hold my hand we’ll make the break and take a stand even as the time makes us discreetly yawn…
We will be quiet rebels ‘till the dawn.

Because the night is where we thrive,
Away from humans civilized,
Our love is silent and it is so obscure.
And on every other day,
We meet beside the bay,
And watch the ripples scatter in the glassy sheen.
And that’s when we heard the townspeople all scream.

My father leads the pack followed closely by my mom,
Your mother is crying and whispering some prayer.
Your sister’s looking guilty and my brother’s looking ******,
My grandmother is shaking her small fist.
I clutch tighter to your hand, whimper terrified and sad,
Knowing the end’s coming inevitably…
You lean in close and whisper, “Run with me.”

And so we do, hand in hand, making footprints in the sand, not caring if they follow at all now.
Because we made preparations,
This is cause for celebration!
We’re ready to escape this ******* town.
Where mothers can be mothers only if they are with fathers and fathers have to wear suits every day.
We prepared to outrun the grey.

So there it goes, the gunshot,
Though it is by my hand,
And my mother collapses in the sand.
She says, “I know this was important, but nothing is ever worth this,”
My father gently purses his old lips.
Soon a second gunshot and my love falls down with me,
And from his family’s side a cry of agony.
With only moments left I look into your honest eyes,
And with my heart my body slowly dies.

We were always laughing, always walking, always singing, always talking,
And as long as you were around, I couldn’t leave this ****** up town,
No matter how much I wanted to see,
If the world could handle you and me.

Tomorrow, who can say,
Will there be a window
where I can greet the moon?
Will the thinning cloth of dreams
accept the stitches of yet another patch?
And in the day, could I find a moment's charity?
Day after day the rains fall cold and grim.
I see the folk gritting their bodies, all tensed,
as though to steel against it.
Can we dream of clarity, when it rains?
Don't speak.. no, don't say it.  Don't tell.

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can **** me!"

the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.

while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.

well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.