No welcome mat adorns the threshold of this house, whose stolen curtains leave gaping holes in the privacy of a building, stripped of laughter. The night peeks in through open doors, and rotted walls, where once soft incandescent light illuminated: a family portrait, childhood masterpieces, and a bookshelf once filled with books worn by the love of three souls who enjoyed nothing more than the peace and quiet of Saturday afternoons devoted to the exploration of their favourite author.

Along the North wall, where once the girl's bedroom sat proudly, gleaming with the banners of musicians and musicals, now rests rubble and ruin. Bereft of purpose, the house is weighed down, with the shame of being unable to shelter its family, with remorse from not withstanding, with guilt from the failure to hold together a family that deserved more than the inextricable truth that a life lived fully and completely in youth and virtue must come to a stop fully and completely.

No welcome mat adorns the threshold of this house, whose drawn curtains provide an honest glimpse into the life of a family, stripped of laughter. The day peeks in through an open door, across painted walls, where the soft morning light illuminates: a tough reminder, childhood innocence, and a bookshelf built with the  love and attention of now two souls who try valiantly to remember the peace and quiet of Saturday afternoons devoted to the exploration of their favourite author.

i've written sixty eight poems
on adderall in an hour and all of them
are living up and getting married
having kids and taking three week
vacations in the carribean
living fulfilled lives under no control

healthy, fruit dripping naturally
even when things go wrong
they sleep soundly.
i am distracted by how perfect they are
and admire them with jealousy
when i should be asleep

where ironically I had met two good people,
they like me got caught up in the desires
of too much too easily, turned white powder or green buds
into easy money, got ratted out by some bad dudes.

Time and space compressed into six by eight
and seconds so vast , made you question  god
sanity your preferences and friends. Made me dream of cigarettes.
Lit up then disappearing as I tried to take a puff.

forgot desires dreams tomorrow, it's the way
the condemned survive. Gave up the thoughts of revenge, tried to
stop the constant dread of closing eyes
seeing your two year old or wife crying.

made a way around the baddest cons, gotta face them
eye to eye or be their ***** forever, and the iron did not ever
take that from me. It stole my soul pride independence future
kids hope and religion, never made me ****, never could,
make me that.

I was told what to eat when to talk walk sit stand speak, yeah
like a dog, had my fill of thugs guards wardens parole boards
the rec room the basketball court the scene,
then came across two of the baddest dudes

quite like me who took their lumps, showed me how to
make great tacos out  of commissary crud, how to roll a
toilet paper cigarette , how to hide my shank and my pencils.

they told me of the dudes who caved in to the feds
and got off for turning them in. What they once had plans
to do to them. But got smart. So smart they became teachers preachers
jailhouse lawyers superfly calm and confident inside.

And I got out.
I had never fallen for the jailhouse Christian ****, the hail mary's said by the crack head murderers who thought JC might get them out. The child rapists, house invaders, lower than dogs, who promised, with
that emptiness of eye that they now were saved.******* weak hypocrites. ******* electric chair heros, crying I am sorry. Fry them.

It was Saturday night. They gave me a set of clothes and twenty bucks.
Pushed me out into the night, clutching a small piece of paper that held my two friends  names and jailhouse numbers on it. I had something.
I walked as far as fast as I could. No destination in mind, no course plotted, I walked up hill this time though. The hard way I had been taught.

I arrived at a fancy Cathedral in town at ten the next morning. Marveled at the well dressed people and fancy cars. Everything seemed
shining. Until I saw all the well- heeled turn around and gasp as
I sank wearily alone into the back pew.

I woke up with people washing my feet.
Now I gotta write Jimmy and Bubba in jail,
and profess, there is hope.
Tell them there is more than us three
good people on earth.

Sell me Pocahontas
She is only seventeen
Paid in full for a painted skull
And a million apple trees

Guide me, native spirit
Teach me how to speak
To tell them why they have to die
And why they're so weak

Pocahontas, come with me  
Take my hand and you'll see

The land of fallen glory
Of courageous family men
Fought for truth and killed the youth
After we called them friends

Pocahontas, come with me  
Take my hand and you'll see

Listen to my promise
This is my desire
Just sign the line and close your eyes
As I set your home on fire

mr death's blue eyed girl
night falls and she's in the bathroom
again with a pocket of pills and her will
to live faltering or shivering in the corner*

the vintage radio plays and she's
stuck in the sweltering heat alone
in the kitchen, hero left her the victim
and she's bending silver spoons with her mind

saying she knows what he's thinking
a psychic or an unbearable palm reader
and she's suddenly taking off again
perhaps some other guy will pick that will to live up

with his nimble fingers and lovely wrists
she was the victim, but she's feeling lifted
again into small fragile scopes of life

born into nothing
still got most
made it to the bottom
from the starting post
expectation throttled
expected overdose
no escape
cant evade
foundations were imposed