I am alive.
I am well.
Don't forget about me.
I'm back from hell.
I'm feeling great.
I'm feeling dandy.
Life's a beach and I'm in the sandy.

I'm sorry if I'm not good enough for you.
I know... I know I'm not the best looking person, I'm not popular or well known, I'm not talented, I'll never be a good writer or poet. My poems are trash and I'm trash; I am my poems. Every word I've ever written for a poem is worthless just like every word I've ever said since I started talking. I'm done writing. Maybe I'll come back or maybe I won't. I've lost pieces of my mind that I can't find.

The walls screamed poetry disease & ***
an inner whine like a mad machine -
dropped in a
cave of roaches
or rodents

The Computer
faces of the men

The wall collage
reading matter

The Traders (dealers)
~~~

I am a guide to the labyrinth
Come & see me
in the green hotel
Rm. 32
I will be there after 9:30 p.m.

I will show you the girl of the ghetto
I will show you the burning well
I will show you strange people
haunted, beast-like, on the
verge of evolution

-Fear The Lords who are
secret among us
~~~

Leaving the phone-booth, I was
Struck by a whiff of
the weird.
Insane old country woman
come to nag the haunts
of town
Hairy legs w/open sores.

From what swamp or under-rock
did you crawl to remind
us what we choose
to leave

If I may be honest with you

I only wanted to compete with you in staring contests because I just loved looking into your eyes

I only wanted to make up weird handshakes because I enjoyed your hands being in mine

I only did the dumbest things just to see you smile and make you laugh

If I may be honest with you
I want you to be my forever and always

let me paint you a picture
in shades of black and white
in shades of those who ****
and those who fight
this is what racism looks like
black men with paper hearts
armed with cardboard swords
white men dipped in ivory steel
white men born armed with skin
it's a black man with hands
raised to the heavens
and seeing hell as his last sight
this is what racism feels like
it's your black breath
being ****** out of your lungs
by white hands of white men
dressed in blue gilded in gold
this is what racism sounds like
it's an 18-year old's last words
it's a mother's cry at a police station
it's a bullet racing through the air
this is what racism is
it is not poetry
it's a black man wearing a red shirt
and getting shot six times
this is no crusade
there is no holy purpose
this is the star-spangled truth
a flag drenched in black blood
this is the truth bared in ink
and no poetry can save it

Jesus didn't go to Disneyland
didn't hold the hand of
Mickey Mouse,

he was
too busy cleaning rooms in the mansion
when he should have been cleaning house.

I never read in the good book
that we shouldn't give a ****
we're all children under the Sun
except them *******
who are crazier than ****
and **** indiscriminately
with a gun

Infinity is here today,
straight or gay
no way
did Jesus go to
Disneyland.