I come from South of the border,
just South of Portland with a little West bend
not from the hills of the academic and domestic
Wake up at 1P, M in the morning
ash under my nails smelling errl in my nose hairs
"Hey do you think I could *** a smoke, bro?"
Sure my man I got a spare so don't fret, but I'm not a bro, though"
"For real?"
**** man, I run into you every day do I really have to do this every day?

Life like the industrial companies lining my streets
press and press and I press and I do it all again
but every step might not go forward, I keep
sayin I don't have the reserve to go on like this,
this ****'s burnin me before progress,
can I just make a little bit?
"No," says me, "but maybe you can next time."
Can I get out of bed at least?
"You know the rules," says me, "get to the car and the engine's running."
But man there's a lot of broken glass down there,
painful, diamond shards trailing in with the past down there.
Is this fair?
Okay, don't answer that.

Not raised by a ****-head, thank god, but neglected,
but kept safe in a home offering protection
Mother's broke and mi papi es a ghost
left to my lonesome devilish devices
look it's a **** **** with vicious collection
of debt and death-draw bridged in prevention by vices
smoke till I choke, kid, smoke while I toast
"I became someone so why couldn't you, too?"
****, kid, I just want to see the weekend,
Just want to see tomorrow,
Just want to wake up sometime

*** for me generally lives in one of two places, either the primal or the spiritual realm.

Primal *** is the *** I share with others because of our mutual, base level attraction, whether it’s in a smile, or a smell, a physical feature, or even something like a mannerism. You compel me, is what we’re saying, and our desire to learn each other is way way up there — though likely naked and on top of each other, wherever it may be.

Spiritual *** is the *** that happens where our entire lives cross and our minds collide and invite each other. What happens when our eyes tie together, dressed or bedded, sharing a look that says, “I know. Exactly.” What happens where words are few or many, and each one custom tailored, in willing wishes to reach specific ears clearly.

What happens under equalizing warm or cold wind in the snow or in the sand.

Unfrozen, surviving in miles of silent wasteland
Somehow risen from cold to my feet, but not breathing
Am I flawless that I drift so lightly with a Western wind?
Or so flawed that I don't admit I'm desperate for coming home
The final night with my elbows on the throne
Laughing over longing after end to the infinite.
Beheld well with the highest intention to flatter you
Maybe I'll die in laughter when you realize I invite you to bitterness,
brittleness to the shattering for which I'll want you close
Because with another's bloodstains I can live alone
Using what I've siphoned to make my ill-advised scratches on tablets on tabletops.

I've got a mark on my head from resting on the window
So high I can't control my skeleton
What am I good for?
Flies in my pockets and mind whirling through bounds
I believe for all my life, I've never heard the sound
They said,
"But what will you leave behind?" I guess I'm not afraid of death
I said,
"I'll leave behind love to the lives I was graced to touch."
I've got a mark on my skin for each time I find the blade
So lost to love that I migrate to pain
What am I good for?
Knives in my closet with blood let to loneliness
I believe for all my life, I've never heard the sound
They said,
"A permanent solution." But otherwise went their own.
I wrote,
"I'll leave behind the hate so that you may celebrate."

I've got a bag of nails and a mask upon my face
one extra for you and hammers for us two.
If you don't mind us taking turns, I know just the way to hell.
Maybe you don't believe in gods, but I believe they know us well.
Always laughing doubled over, watching from somewhere else.

It seems now, still, and into forever, meaning and being
arrive incorrectly, deciphered through perspective lacking

the cosmic kind of clarity you think we'd be preaching by now
but here I stand, represented by death and persecution,
******, abuse and defamation, stuck in limbo, curtains half-drawn
waiting to see if I'm one -- winding up just another number

Tell me, have you seen it?
Exposure in drip-drop?
Even though shown, so slightly shone, less than any other broadcast
Lasting less than any length of time divining prime time due process

Still we receive clapped hands and stop,
how could we dare intrude living rooms
and man caves, "Man, flip that tab back to Vine,
let me disintegrate." It seems I live to die in
higher percentage and end the show to
indignation. Happy Anniversary.

No parenthetical this time in my rhyme, I'll lie flat the baseline like, Here are my cards, bro. Take a look at them all, bro. Get started with just the light kinds of gospel like, Bro, did you know I got a **** down there? Taken aback you say, What? Bro, did you know I'm packing a tackle, though so modest in stature, bro, instead of a package I joke split/second to cope and still manage to crack a satanic smile as I call my most modest hose a gigantic, titanic ****?

Word. You got nice lips, still, though, how bout you look up and get down on me, yo? Word is that I handle it with alarming aplomb considering how I present myself to the world. So what I got a culturally appropriated slab of ink tattoo yo. Just a guy trying to get along with the little he's got, and then on top of that I like to slide my **** n stuff. How about me too? Cause I can get down on you if we both repeat **** like we believe it. You got *****, bam, and plump curved fat just as all the girls growing up had, fashionable hair and even a soft face. You, girl, I can bend you over. Sure, be glad to bend you over.

Rough riding baring face to the wind on highways
I never thought I would be here deciding
Do I believe in others' abilities enough to believe that they know me as
If they would know a human?
Get close, pry in, to my life,
you'll find a lion, lonely, dragging coats of molted skin
with wire stolen from her other lives,
the desperate lioness devours the food she can.

Oo, have I got a song for you. While you whittle away time learning to play instruments I've run the gun and figured how to inject my spirit in it. Has it been for you as easy to forget as it has been for me to leave the love where it belongs and move on with healthy hope, pelvis at the rope, grinding life into a pulp with each push and pull. The cold in memory for you serves as my instigation to remember you for warmth.

Life is just kitchen like it was before
Conversation runneth over,
Our glasses overfull with celebration
Why don't you come to my door?