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Harry Kelly Jun 2018
I think we stayed at every good hotel in the West.
Big suites
Hot tubs
Room service
We were really living the good life.
Nothing like a little drug money to help you indulge in
the finer things.
"Easy come Easy go"
Only people who have never sold drugs can say that.
Easy.......Yeah, Right.
Dealing with whackos
Getting robbed at gunpoint
Driving across the country with enough weight to get you
                                            Life in Prison.
Stressful.  Very stressful.
So we'd stay in Fancy Resorts.
Knowing one day it would all end
May as well enjoy it while you can
Because eventually you get caught
And if you make it out alive, all you have are the memories.
Like that time we were staying at the Royal Palms
Next to the former President's family.
Getting up from the pool, smoking crystal behind the cactus
While the former first lady swam laps.
She still looked pretty good in a bathing suit.
Old gal.
Harry Kelly Jun 2018
I remember.
Walking with you on West End Avenue.
Laughing and Laughing.
We used to go into the drug stores and try different eye creams Attempting to conceal the fatigue that comes from staying up
for days on end.

Man, did we party.

And I remember.
The different creatures we would run into
along the way.
Creatures of the night.
Mostly emotionally disturbed characters.
Running from life or running from themselves.
Some real crazies.

You remained my good friend.
A reliable person.  Something rare in life.
We would talk about the mistakes we made
and the good choices as well.
Careful never to beat ourselves up too badly.
Because sometimes, it’s hard to make the right choices.
And it’s better to laugh when you mess up.
It’s better to laugh if you can.
chichee  Jul 9
Small Gods
chichee Jul 9
They keep asking us where we were
last night and we
Could tell the truth
but where's the fun in that?
The world wants answers and we've only
got big dreams and
empty stomachs.
So what do you want to be when you grow up?
Your smile is all teeth.
Getting high,
Getting loved,
Getting glamorous on
thrift shop discounts.
Getting plastered.
You'll write your confessions
in the fog on windows,
and worship
deaf gods.

With quicksilver tongues and
eyes like mercury,
We can't wind
the years back
we sure as hell can try.
For Fix.
mjad  Aug 2
mjad Aug 2
You broadcast your faith
Singing praises in your posts
But is that how it really goes?

Is faith really your focus; your motivation
For getting drunk and partying
With evangelical consistence

Is God lighting up your life
As you light up a blunt
Faith is just your innocent front

Don't let yourself believe we fall for your facade
We know what you really do
and so does God
Brian telephones me and invites himself over

He is eloquent, verbosely underlying a sadness
Sullen stories of his damages
Inside himself dances
Steps around the open fire

From his Rhode Island
         Portlandian Indian / Apache
Scalping American schtick
Shameless fairy ****
Let loose
Got lost and
quickly young new hungers
a pack of wolves on a carcass in winter
              His innocence ripped apart - hopes
Shapes of dreams in longing
Childhood’s end
"gang ******...." he recollects

one is ***** by one’s stupidity,
drugged decisions so ignorant
"...(I) was left for dead..."
          continues to confide in me, my lips and eyes unmoving,
          my ears, a canyon echoing native stories...
Floating three feet above solid ground
in a sling, being bred,
body like a loaf of weak wheat,
says he / is vivid with his memories
        "...bleeding, my hole dripping loads..."
uncomfortable I become
squirming and puckering
an odd poster pinned in mind :
an *** bent over
     red hand printed, polka-dotted & picked cheeks
activity of an insomniac in twilight, tweaked
strawberry quick
fairy fountain spilling over full moon
with a script at the bottom - "Got *****?"
a milk mustache and purple
bruised eyes....
a gory rendition of *** tales
with a dry snicker
always optimism mr. *** storyteller....
It is His key
humor and ease of availability
to numb himself, sugarcoat his past,
crystalize his hell;
              leading to the great ******* hours
partying with the gargantuan
frequent the members, bath-housing
getting ****** was / a *** puppet
moaning the hollowness of it
ventriloquists' drool and pools of lubed indifference...
Brian, Lord of Lost Appetites
and paradise
ignorance (now, he claims) is blissful
                 even in recollecting
results of his test at nineteen,
positive lord of bad luck,
                       always expected it....
this rolling stone
gathered all the midnights in his moss
but grazing always
a smile
on the road of loss... and
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