We come from hopeless histories
  to America with hope in pockets.
  We work like madmen tireless to
  earn our keep and feed we Irish.
  I feed coal to iron furnaces and
  load cargo in ship's hot holds.
  We won't starve to death here.
  Maybe I will be remembered.
  My great grandson scratches
  my story into his silly poems.

God is. God is dead. Both are true.
   Like a cat in a box magic trick.
   I'll be. I'll be dead. I'm no metaphor.
   My end is a black cat's tail swinging
   like a ticking clock back and forth
   uncertain which way to go to be.

The party was ready for midnight's stroke.
  I fled noise and awkward kisses and braved
  the cold night. It began to flurry then snow
  in a splendid sky frozen just for me saved.
  The new year arrived I raised my glass and
  toasted and thought of us so very long ago.

Find your favorite toy
stash it in the toy box
*** drugs rock and roll
find your biggest *****.
Never tell the Vicar his toll
God forbid you speak truth, Boy!
The powers that be will destroy
your kind of queers
preying on your fears
washing souls clean in
your futile sweet tears
a baptism  original sin.

They haunt dreams and Oh!
how we cry! Aunt Blanche
drinks wine and smokes her
cigarettes and calls me Kid.
She loves me, doesn't judge me,
knows my horrible love better
than I ever could. It's in flak
that rips an airman from the
sky in wars that leave us to
bail out from burning love.

I enrolled in college
accepted in Clown U.
My parents are ecstatic.
I finally see their view.
Ivy League it's not but
I might get a 4 point O
join Cirque du Soleil
free tickets to the show.

I've run a thousand miles at least.
Am I running to or from the beast?
Do I run away? Am I chasing youth?
I run to the moon looking for truth.
I run from vows the nine to five
paychecks to barely stay alive.
I'm running back to the start
until dreams die in my heart.