#bums
For all my tales of braggery
I am the eloquent loser.
Out of thousands of choices
I will pick the ******
The liar, the layabout or thief.
Then starts my florid tales
Designed to mask my grief.
I list the virtues of the guy,
The Prince Charming I caught
And talk about his attributes
None of which he has got.
I treat him like aristocracy
Even though he never works.
My friends wonder how I can
Align myself with such a ****
So, that means more stories
To extoll his many talents
Even though he has so few
To brag about on balance.
I keep thinking my eloquence
Will overcome his character,
His many alluring facets
Or lack of which whatsoever.
It’s sad the lengths I have gone
Trying not to be so alone.
I have been accused of being
Like a dog with a favorite bone
In my attempts to justify
The awful choices I have taken.
But I don’t listen, I only talk
Any advice is all forsaken.
That’s how it goes with me
If I can explain things away,
Like Scarlett, I'll think about it
Maybe on some other day.
Maybe then I'll finally understand
Why I do what I always do.
But we eloquent losers don’t care
So very much what is true.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
Welcome to Austin
time to go home
you can't stay here
pick up and roam
The roads are all filled
ya can't move around
too many cars
in a liberal town
Mass transit
a huge bicycle joke
more such the lanes
indoors ya can't smoke
The festivals and venues
are filled to the max
renting out homes
paying the city the tax
Artsy and edgy
full of hot air
Uber is back
charging exorbitant fare
Hipsters and pundits
are all here and around
bums living in boxes
old and unsound
Visit us often
and spend all your dough
we can't leave this place
cuz we've nowhere to go
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
Stick your thumb
Up your ***
When it's brown,
Pull it down.
Show it all
Around the town.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Carla kept nudging me to learn Italian.
It is the language of lovers and liars she said, life’s two best friends,
Discipline yourself, it will teach you to sing, she offered,
Each phrase a lyric, a seduction,
It will give you an unfair advantage over younger men, she promised,
Tickle her ear with this tongue and she will shiver and unfold,
Her heart, her knees unlocked.
Italian is a calculate of rhythm, Carla suggested,
Every woman understands timing and phase,
Our life is nothing but cycles for god’s sakes,
How have you not understood this?
It is the lingua of fair play, she continued, each syllable an equal citizen,
A dialect with an innate sense of justice,
Women are as intrigued by its possibilities,
As they are by threat and danger,
Either of which you can no longer promise.
Tell a woman you love her in Italian,
Ti amo più respiro, I love you more than breath,
And her ******* will disappear,
She won’t be able to take her eyes off your lips,
And as we all know, your mouth is your hook,
Your irresistible smile, the pout, the persuasion.
You are a poet, a miracle I know,
Your words are narcotic when you put your mind to it,
I’ve heard you quell an unruly crowd;
Your resonant tone could soothe a pack of ravenous jackals.
But with that intricate face of yours,
Your accumulating age, the leather wrinkles,
Believe me, you will soon need to help to ****** even a photograph.
Enlist, become Italian, Carla told me, it is your only hope,
And she tossed the last of her wine onto the sand,
Watched the red stain saturate and fade,
And lay back to face the sun.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:08 PM UTC
Burning bodies in salted seas.
Pinching ***** along the dead beds.
Wet winds carrying the sharp flavour,
Of overcooked hot dogs and slutty beach bums.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
Some people say ******* is disgusting. **** 'em, I say.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
I don’t want to perpetuate the produce – consume loop
but when I don’t, I feel like such a lazy moocher
Could I play guitar near after dark bars for $23 an hour?
Victor and I did that once, for $11.50 each
Untaxed, that’s better than my dour real job
So, if I really made my place at a street corner, I’d be a smart earner
But then I’d be a fixture, like the accordion man and the bums with PVC buckets
The bar goers would soon hate me for chumping them out of their cash
with three gritty “Heart of Gold” covers
Then soon the mediocre bums would jump me and Riot, my guitar
She’ll smash into the walk under a Irish flag in front of Murphy’s Law,
while drinkers whoop and punch the air
The bucket goes over my head
and the accordion bellows squeeze round my neck
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Woke up in a dream under asphalt trees
soaked in the sap of the sweltering city
wearing these old rat rags
and sneering at the concrete
Greyscale mindset stitched into my sleeve
This town'll fuckin' **** ya
and drop a coin on your grave
dig your way up to the daylight
and hang on to your *****
Waking up
Snapping out.
It's not so easy, is it?
Waking up and snapping out...
The barge is afloat on the sidewalk streams
Burns in the summer, ******* doused in Spring
the bums puke in corners
children ***** in the alleys
Sinking hulks. "Abandon ship!" on the galleys
These waves'll ******* **** ya
and pull you down in the deep
this dream ain't worth waking for
But we can't get to sleep.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC