someone else's poem and it
knocks you offline for a while
all the thoughts you had wanted to say
a lot more precisely written

from the top of my mullet mohawk
big head, poppin'
in and out of the nearest
******, no-stoppin'
me jack the hammer hittin'
once I got started
that day momma
spit my *** out:
collidin'
with my father
who may have been my brother
no tellin'
with every authority figure
who had the *****
to try and tell me what to do,
with the man arrestin'
handcuffed around foot and ankles
everyone who had no money,
never knowing the system
from my day of creation
society was rigged:
a bunch o'  twisted ***** *******'
leaning towards the rich *******
making the haves have more
the have-nots fightin'
for the scraps, no religion had
answers,
feelin'
just like a hungry dog
behind the locked barred
four-star restaurant doors,
so, takin' whatever I can
what is left  I guarded every scrap
like it was somethin'

Dad and I had good talks coming home from work at times ..
He would tell me about the day you two met at least twice a month .
It got better and better each time he told it .  I can still see him smiling , talking about your red hair and picture perfect smile , sometimes a tiny tear would swell up in his dark brown eye .. Seems you two met at the Fair back in '58 , it must of been a great time to be young back then .. I'm certain that I feel the same way today Mom , though it's auburn hair and big brown soulful eyes I've stumbled upon .. Hopefully a grandson will have the chance to hear my tale , told just like my Dad spoke years ago , with a tearful eye and a warm , thoughtful smile ...

Be forever watchful for the charlatans , the snake charmers
of certain Baptist denominations ...
The monsters in need of jet airplanes to spread the Gospel of
their convenient , malleable Jesus that scour the Earth ..
They tell of Gods word in privy , ****** the elderly and the afflicted out of every last penny ..
Jeweled Temples built with iniquity , ever reaching for the clouds will find a scarlet termination , an incredible hard fall one day to the cold , unforgiving ground ....

I was pronounced dead at the age of ten while eavesdropping
a conversation from a few neighborhood friends ...
Succumbed to wounds suffered from the revelation of
my physical ugliness in the eyes of others , dropped dead
where I stood , left , ran away and cried myself to bed . Still running in my mind at times ...
I was killed again by melancholia at age thirteen from a lunatic teacher
that made sport of me ... He's a crier so I heard , a freak that would never amount to anything in this world , a runt of the litter to be frowned upon , someone to be used and preyed upon ..
Shot in the head with an invisible bullet at fifteen , called a long haired
idiot by someone very dear to me , a guitarist wannabe writing songs
like all the ******* do , societies queer not worth the dirt between his boots , a lazy ******* with no place to be and nothing useful to do ..
Chastised by acquaintances for not working on cars or hunting  , watching NASCAR , playing poker and drinking liquor with 'the boys' .
... My preference was sipping coffee , reading the dictionary , playing the guitar and taking pictures .. My toys are Walt Whitman , Carl Sanburg poetry books and oak walking sticks for touring my precious Hill Country !
You ******* killed me emotionally but I'm still treading the Earth , I'm writing like a man possessed and whistling like a mockingbird , found
the love of my life , working everyday to become the best 'me' that I can possibly be , watching you beer bellied , obese , obtuse ******* physically dropping dead like green blowflies all around me !