It's hard to understand, unless
you've been there.
There is a pull to the streets.
I can't count how many dead
end jobs I've held—how many roach
infested rooms I've
crashed in.
The inevitable day comes when
I tell the boss, '*******, I don't need this ****! '
I walk out into the misty
afternoon—I look left, then right.
I drowned out thoughts of the future with
a cheap pint of *****.

I see one eye George on my travails,
he's half-lit—living in the woods.
'Don't let the ******* get you down.' He says, as he
stumbles by bent, and taking a standing eight count.
Mickey the ****** stops me a
block from my flop-house.
'Tommy boy, I'm sick…gotta a couple of bucks so
an old drunk can get well? '
I slip him a five.
He says with a tear in his eye,
'God bless you Tommy—you know I
had it all, I'm afraid the
streets own me now.'
'Keep your chin up' I say as
I plummet down the
street, pretending
tomorrow is a decade away.

I climb the three flights of
stairs to my room,
slip the key in the lock,
turn the ****—it opens.
'I love these little miracles' I say under
my breadth.
My three-legged cat Walter saunters up to
me—he's white with marmalade splotches.
He does his best to rub up against
my leg—I pet his matted fur.

I passed out in an alley one
night, and woke up to Walter lying next to me.
I think something crawled into
my ear and made a home,
it's been there ever since.

I crash down on my chair,
and watch Walter scratch at
the door with his one front leg.
He hasn't been neutered—he gets the
pull of the streets.
I let him out and take a long swig of
the *****—the potion does its magic.
Life doesn't look so bad,
there will be other jobs, and I still have
two weeks left in this
dump of a room.
A writer needs four walls—yet there is
always
the pull of the streets.

empty wine bottles in your room
when i wake up, sometimes,
i still reach for you

empty glass bottles
rattling around in the backseat
why do i still think of you

very start of the new year
empty wine bottles hidden in your bin
i couldn’t be around that, you knew this
what the **** were you thinkin’

topo chico clinking in the backseat
reminds me of when i found the
empty something-else in your recycling

(sheesh)

driving me bonkers
that i still crave to kiss you
it’s the little things
that help me not miss you

bought me the wrong kind of candy for a late valentine’s
and maybe i shouldn’t care as much as i do
but i couldn't help the eerie feeling creeping inside
that things wouldn’t ever be what they used to

a white picket fence; half in between
where men made bruises and batter
women kept secrets hidden in their lips
throwing away the keys

running to plastered trailer walls
a home i thought it could be
that peeled at its seams
my father tried to keep his hands rough enough
for the dirt to fall off of my skin,
his arms to comfort me
so much could only stand an amount of time
after barbecuing underneath overgrown peach trees,
shopping for strawberry lip gloss at mall city
now laying in piles of clothes,
behind brown leather sofas,
in a chipping bath with a jug of Hennessy,

his hollowness followed me in midnight internet schemes
where i thought love would soon be
only to find men calling to make more batter
and i soon, became a women of locked lips
answering with clothes off, her hair *******
in attempt to make a new white picket fence dream,
half in between

Many years
ago, I went to
this little
Irish bar.
On Sunday nights,
there was a jazz band.
They played
Monk
Mingus
Coltrane
Miles
and the Duke.

I drank gallons of
****** marys on
those hot
summer nights.
Dill pickle spears, and
green olives came up
later on those
hungover, dreamless
mornings.

I was young.
I wasted the days,
lying in the sun,
bayonetted by youth.
Copper colored skin,
tin soul.
I would go thousands
of miles, chasing
that train, before I
would be forgiven.

I once checked into an old hotel
that’s served guests for many a year.
The white-clad staff will serve you well
and greet you brimming with cheer.

Its handsome brick and stone façade
shines gold in the bright morning sun.
Inside, the red velvet furnishings’ a nod
to the lovers’ tall tales there spun.

The rooms are filled with patchouli scent,
or perhaps with a strong note of musk.
At first you’ll easily make the rent
and stay there from dawn until dusk.

Oh, how well could I in that chamber sleep
on starry fields of Elysium each night,
my baggage packed in cotton I’d keep
to stow it from whatever gave fright.

But the longer this hospitality I had
the more a locked hospital it became;
the doors that’d welcomed this young lad
soon rusted, harder to open again.

I chatted with the friendly concierge
and noticed the crease of his smile
was curled into the quirk of a sneer
while his light humor shifted to bile.

The mattress that once was thick and soft
grew coarse and lumpy with age
while the vistas seen from the gilded loft
were obscured by the bars of a cage.

The red velvet’s colors began to bleed.
All was gilded with the gold of fools.
Once this hotel had for me filled a need —
but it sought to make me its ghoul.

This hostel had to hostile turned,
its host was revealed as a warden.
With time I learned its charms to spurn
and escape to a greener garden.

Even now that hooking hotel calls,
a sultry siren who woefully wails
and summons her guests — or thralls? —
to deep sleep in her heavenly jail.

I woke up in shadows,
The bottle beside me
Chasing the ghosts of what used to be me
Thought I found love in the haze of the night
But all that it brought was the cold empty fight
I rose from the ashes
Rebuilt my own way
No longer a puppet
Im learning to play
I’m standing alone
In the light of my truth
No longer a prisoner of dark wasted youth
With every step forward I’m more than alright
The love that I lost led me back to the light
Memories haunt me like smoke in the air
The laughter the love it’s simply not there
But I found a new strength in my solitude
Embracing the calm, I’m cleansing the rude
In the silence my heart found a song
A melody whispers
“You’re where you belong”
Im standing alone
In the light of my truth
No longer a prisoner of a dark wasted youth
With every step forward I’m more than alright
The love that I lost lead me back to the light
So here’s to the journey
To healing and grace
I found my own home in this damaged space