yeah we're getting drunk at four in the afternoon
we don't have anywhere to drive to.
we have no class
no responsibility
my city's filthy
I live in the art district
nobody else anywhere else in the world can say that
Richmond knows how to lay it down
how to make the children feel invincible
how to make the women feel like super models
and the men like long lost kings
don't like my poems?
that's fine
we flow to a different drum beat
yeah we are a bunch of
PBR swilling hipsters in our non corrective lenses
but we know how humanity dances back and forth
like the flickering of candle light
and I've never felt out of place here
only just as weird as everybody else
we are pathological liars and sociopaths
our apathy is only matched by our endless empathy
My Mum thinks I am a hell of a writer
endless support
but the anonymity never ends
a scroll from God to lead us to death
and the transvestites are polite enough
boy you smell ****\
they blurt out as I walk past in a cloud of old spice
the art school chicks make me feel validated
when I find myself sneaking out of their houses in the morning's yawn
come to Richmond if you want a good time
if you're fake you'll make it
but if you're bitter and jaded
you might pass out of interest
like cartoons to a 15 year old
I could talk **** on this city all night
but truth be told
I love what I hate
and truth withheld
don't tell my English friends
that my heart beats
solely for that
RVA-lution

1800
Georgie boy
busch
bud
coors
PBR
they slide down the relaxed throat
of an unrelaxed youth
and these red squiggly lines mark my poems
as if to say
hey,
Harry buddy,
you realize that you make no ******* sense,
right?
and who decides what is and what isn't
nonsensical
All I know is that these crazy ******* yankees
are making me lose my grip on the English stiff upper lip reality
My tenth grade history teacher/JV soccer coach
liked to make songs up about me
There's only one Harry Baxter
true.
only not
there are many of us
the good Harry
The bad Harry
Ugly Harry
and swagger Harry
Violent Harry
and introspective Harry
Romantic and evil
caring and selfish
I get drunk to forget everything
life
money
cares
desires
needs
duty
I write about ten ******* poems a day
not because I'm prolific
or inspired
not because I'm deep
or smart
or romantic
I write because it stems the tide of suicidal thoughts
which barrage my inactive mind
like cannon *****
and I've got great ***** of fire
rushing the pace of every word I spit
but I'm afraid of my own genetic cowardice
From grandfather to father to son
it runs through my veins like people and bulls
I'm drunk tonight
I'll be drunk tomorrow
and what the hell do you care?

Let's be honest people
I write too many of these **** things
for all of them to be any good
I know that the notifications from Harry J Baxter can get annoying
the only thing is
I'm not whole yet
and each poem I write
****** or great
removes a piece of me which is deemed
unessential
Pain is weakness leaving the body
*******
pain is the body leaving the idea of weakness behind
one minute
two minutes
three minutes later
I'm dealing with ten views and one like
which is fine
eat me up
I taste like ****
but I'm nutritious
that's for ******* sure
read my three hundred and something poems
and try to tell me you know my life
you'd still be wrong
working on working towards being completely honest
but a part of me cries against the crimes of obvious weakness
that's fine
patience is a a part of my best part
I can write ****
until there's no **** left to come out
that's the goal
aim
desire
I can sound similar at times
but don't fall asleep
this ocean runs deep
and is ready to explode
hold your friend's hand
a tsunami is brewing
and I'm in the mood to drown

There are many such poems composed by you which I admire and love.

I respect you as a gifted human being in my life.

You have a great identity for me and you really rock my life.

Thanks for being the way you've been around for all these days in my mind buddy and for all the quality time spent with each other.

I have found you on the phone and over the Internet anytime I was feeling really lonely.

I can only keep wondering what auspicious moment was it that you were written in my destiny and merely smile to answer it.

I know that you are wondering what makes me blabber such cute stuff about us, but you know that you should also try harder to get what you want from your career.

In the end, I reassure you that I am and I will be around for you forever and ever.

Salt on the back of my hand I know so well
shot of tequila to remember you scent
**** the lime down to bring the balance
How are you tonight
better than me,
surely.
My chestnut girl
my top teeth too long
upper lip too short
best friend
making me feel saintly for taking your nerves and melting them in my palm
pleading to Gods I never met
for this last bet
to end up winning
I'm losing my sanity with every breath expelled
but who want's to be sane
when in the land of the blind
the seven eyed man is king?
Sane insane saints and sins cast across the wall like suicide grey matter
the children wouldn't understand
It's probably for the best
but when tequila clouds the back of my throat
my sinuses remind me of the sound of you
playing guitar
and singing the songs
which held you close in childhood

I was six or seven
I realized the dragonball Z comics I was drawing
needed a story line to make any **** sense
that was the first time
Then I was twelve
writing gangsta rap with my friends
a group of English farm kids
who couldn't be any whiter
That's when I realized who she was
By fourteen I was writing things which resembled stories
only not really
fifteen sixteen seventeen
they were growing stronger
February of my eighteenth year I wrote that first poem
I thought it ******
and it did
but still
people liked it
poem after story after novel attempt after poem after story after...
almost twenty years old
the words are thicker
shorter
harder
but still,
we're not there
but I can't wait until
the days of matrimony bells ringing in empty churches
the day were you give in to my
I do
We'll write our own vows
burn our sacred cows
we'll write a love story
which won't ever be forgotten

"Keep quiet
why do you always have to yell?"
If I kept it down,
I fear you wouldn't hear me
well enough
"Just slow it down.
You're talking at a mile a minute."
If I talk fast it's only because
I fear I don't have enough time
to say what I need to say
"Do you have to swear so much?
it sounds ugly. It doesn't sound smart."
If I swear
It's only because I fear your loss of attention
"Why do you always sound so sad?
Just smile.
Lighten up."
If I sound sad
depressed
upset
it is only because
I fear for you

Woefully sings the boy
Wonderfully sings the girl
Dreams collide, few survive
And so it goes

Preaching of the sinner
Unsung goes their world
Picking up the pieces
Notation of the boy and girl

Both stand together
On opposing sides of hello
Who will cure or **** the fellow
If they never meet, we'll never know

Demons once were angels
Fallen from graces
Both fervently cling, both sing
And both songs echo

"I think I'm done drinking and smoking."
He says to the near empty room
the lights all off and the blinds down.
suicide is easy if you have enough time on your hands
being the devil's plaything isn't all that bad
The left side of his index finger
the right side of his thumb
stained yellow by oral fixation he never quite shook
More of a skeleton than a person
with hands that don't stop shaking
until the liquid sterilizes his soul
"Yeah man,"
...
...
"I think I'm done with all that ****."
he says between **** rips
"Hey,
if you're going to the kitchen,
could you grab me a beer?"

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