We had blown through half the ***** and the drugs were nowhere to be found  in this oasis's of debauchery and bad decisions .
Bone had thrown his usual  temper fit and with his spoiled rich boy roots showed his *** in the worst possible way till someone finally shut him the **** up.

And after the ******* dude had knocked my sometimes friend most times pain in my *** sidekick out.
Looking to me in half spent rage and ****** knuckles asking now what the **** are you  going to do?

Well I'm going to have another round and play the jukebox now that someone finally shut that ******* up what you having amigo?
You mean your just going to sit there and let me get away with what I did to your friend that way.

Who that guy in the floor I don't know him.
But you came in here together **** you been sitting here drinking for at least five hours and your telling me you don't know him?

Oh that guy sleeping in a pool of blood in the floor?
Yeah stupid .
Nope never met him but he 's alright sometime when he's not ******* then he's well less a ***** and more just a regular ******* .

What are you ******* with me ******!?

The burly man asked as pure anger flowed like the Rio grand within his eye's
Some people have to build the rage up like some strange volcano to inflict damage on others and some are just ******* by design.
I wasn't sure of this man's type I just knew it was to dam hot to hit the highway and the cervasa was cold the music was right and I had no intention of leaving before my buzz kicked in.

What's to stop me from just kicking your *** like I did this ******* *******  ****** you tell me what's to stop me from taking your money and  rolling your *** right out of this place?

Mexico still bleeds of the past and it's people still show that passion for a good fight that at it's base is the true nature of man .
Not to be some violent nut but the passion for life at it's sharpest and most dangerous edge .

Well my friend I can think of a few reasons and probably none will be that pleasant.

I'm done with your games ****** .
The man moved forward fists clenched ready for round two I suppose
but his eye's sure were shocked when he found a barrel of a gun placed firmly between his eyes.

Now I told you this wasn't going to be pleasant sure you could have sat your angry *** down on a bar stool had a drink or two but no you had to play the ******* when I was just trying to catch a good buzz I swear some people have no manners .

The room went dead silent like some cheap spaghetti western right before someone was about to get killed minus that weird *** music so I guess it wasn't that silent at all as one old man turned his head then just went back to his drink like I don't give a **** as long as he doesn't bother me or make me stop drinking.


Oh **** ****** don't pull that ******* trigger  the man said his rage had turned more into a look of fear or maybe just a look of he just **** his pants honestly what's the difference well minus the smell.

with a gun in one hand and a beer in another I called the bartender down .
Mix me a mist and coke barkeep please.

No Whiskey just tequila senior .
What ! I replied in a fake sort of shock .
I swear no whiskey No women what kind of bar is this place I swear do I have to shoot somebody to get a bottle of whiskey ?

No no ****** the man at the end of the gun pleaded just get him some ******* whiskey Goddamit  he yelled at the bartender.
Really you don't have to be rude oh I'm sorry what's your name I been to busy holding you at gunpoint you must forgive my manners.

My names Gonzo I enjoy killing my liver hookers but only in moderation  like a good Christian  and ballroom dancing .
The man at the end of the boom stick lost all fear at least for a second.
Really ballroom dancing?

I'm kidding bout that one amigo but I do enjoy watching a good pole dancer  high five to that I mean I would  give you a high five if I wasn't holding a gun to your head and all .

Um you ever going to tell me your name bud?
I looked at this now downright scared shitless man who seemed to have a real issue with sweating from the strange puddle on the floor.

I swear you pull a fully loaded pistol on someone and point it to there head and everyone just acts so serious people are so strange these days.

Bill the man with a sweating problem replied.
Bill ?  Really what Mexican is named Bill ?
I mean I come all the  way down here get into some wild west kickass trouble and I find the only Mexican named Bill .
******* Machete you ruined my whole experience of what this was supposed to be like.

Sir. the man tried to speak up behind the  bar.
Don't interrupt me barkeep I'm on a dam roll here duh who you thinks writing this story imaginary person I created within my own demented mind.

You see Bill when I come across the border I expect a few simple things kick *** ****** cheap drinks and badass people like yourself named Razor or Spider  Or  El Nino or some sort of **** is that raciest sure put labels on what we have here amigo but I come for a kickass time in Mexico  and you really well you just killed it so I hope your happy.

I'm so sorry but please don't **** me Bill Replied .
Sir the barkeep spoke up again.

Okay what bartender being my whole trip has been ruined by Mexican Bill who honestly I feel if not for all this gun and life or death **** we could have a true connection but not like in a gone fishing on that mountain **** were those two cowboys corn hole each other  or maybe they just played corn hole once is fine I mean its not like I saw that movie and cried at the end cause duh I would never go see that in some cheap attempt to get laid by my teenage stripper girlfriend yeah don't ask.

Okay barkeep what the hell is it.
Well sir were not in Mexico.
This man was clearly more drunk than I for he didn't know what dam country he was in.

Amigo are you sure you know what your talking about.
Well yeah the barkeep replied your in Busch gardens theme park .
Well that certainly explains the ******* roller coaster and why that woman near it slapped me when I asked how much for a ******* boy do I feel embarrassed.

I knew I shouldn't have had that acid before leaving the house .
I did think it was strange that Germany was within walking distance.

So after nearly giving Mexican Bill a heart attack who was actually was Canada Bill once made me feel a little better because  honestly just for Nickleback and Justin Bieber  was grounds enough to pull a gun on him .

We sat  enjoyed some drinks as Bone laid passed out in the floor and said I don't want to go to school every time I kicked him cause I'm a true **** for a friend duh like you hadn't figured that out.

We laughed we rode rides we beat some dude up in France just because he was French .

And in the parking lot as we said are goodbyes.
I stood there and said you know Bill it's been great sorry bout the whole thinking I was in a foreign country and pulling a gun on you and stuff.

It's cool Gonz sorry about all my ****** music we pollute your airwaves with I know it's like being prison ****** by some dude called Harley .

Well I got to go and Bill  you stay crazy and by the way go take a ******* bath cause you **** your pants and it smells worse than Taylor swifts crouch okay .

Yeah the city landfill doesn't have **** on her .

We parted  are ways drunk and behind the wheel like good Americans .
And if that ****** you off just wait till my next write.

Duh it's just a story *******.
Stay crazy hamsters .

Your captain  

Gonzo

A broken hero walks through the streets of his home town
Home from a war he didn't understand
But was pretty **** good at fighting
He's got a slight limp and it's making
All the cracks in the sidewalks a little different
And every time he trips
He wishes he were back in the desert
His camouflage can't hide him here
His bullet proof vest can't protect him from piercing glances
And his gun won't stop the advance of the fear crawling through him
It won't stop the uncertainty closing in on him
For all the times he was in a fire fight
Shooting his gun into nothing  but the night
He never felt uncertain
You get shot at and you shoot back
It was never complicated
Your best friend dies
But you've taken enough best friends' lives that
It just seems logical
But here at home he can't take his safety off
He takes his gun apart
Hangs the different pieces on his wall
A modern art tribute to the dog tags he's yet to deliver to weeping widows
He's come home to a world he can't associate with
A family he can't share stories to
A job force that doesn't know what to do with him
Because they're not quite sure how you get a bachelor's degree in blowing **** up
Or how dodging bullets relates to crunching numbers
He's come home to a girlfriend who feels just guilty enough
To have *** with him for a few months before leaving him
For his best friend she's been with for years
And a G.I. Bill just big enough to drink his way through his thirties
Which will be just long enough to learn he can't drown the sounds of battle
Out with Busch pounders
That beer goggles don't work on memories
And that MRE's don't quite cut it for Thanksgiving dinners
He can't form any saliva in his perma-cotton mouth
So he seals envelopes with his tears
As he sends out the letters that were supposed to be just in case
But just in case turned out to be the case a little too often
He finds it unsettling that every time he goes out
He know he's coming home
He forgot to stop at red lights for weeks
And when he remembered he was supposed to
He still didn't stop
It's not that he wants to die
He just wants to know he still can
He wakes up too early for everybody else
Makes his bed, folds his socks, shines his boot
Eats breakfast, and watches the news talk about withdrawal
As he wipes the sleep from his eyes to prepare for the symptoms of his own
He sleeps on the floor till the Army Surplus Store
Delivers his cot
It's not that he doesn't want to be normal
It's that he forgot how
He's bought the plane tickets
But still doesn't know what to say
He knows they already know
But he has promises to keep
What can he say to the wives of men
That were stronger than him
How's he supposed to stay strong for them
When he wasn't strong enough to die with them
And once a year his home town holds a parade
In honor of the fallen veterans from the community
He keeps wondering why he has yet to be invited
Because the only thing keeping him alive is his heart beat
He's not offended
But he feels more at home at the cemetery
With the dead and buried
Than in the church next door
They morn them in
He wakes up at night in flop sweats
From nightmares of bullets lodged in his chest
That he's come to call
Dreams

How did we get here
where vitamin water turned into ***** and the power of innocence changed to the courage of
alcohol. The boys no longer opening car doors and the girls trading in t-shirts for crop tops that show off
what they were or weren’t wearing.
Where sneaking a soda after dinner turned into hiding a flask at the family party where we used to play games
like hip-scotch and dodge ball instead of drinking hard whisky and Jack.
The promises made in the D.A.R.E. program about not doing drugs or drinking
were traded in for drunk driving and “just one hit.”
How did we get here
where grape juice turned into white wine and a nervous kiss under the bleachers
at the Friday football game moved to steaming up the windows in the back seat of that car
at the party on Saturday night.
The knocking on your neighbor’s door for them to come out and play moved to texting
in the driveway and hanging out means sitting on your phone
while sitting on the couch next to someone else.
How did we get here,
where root beer turned to Busch lite and being home before dark
switched to struggling to be home before the sun came up.
The parents not knowing their innocent children are making children and kids being too drunk to remember
they promised to go to Church on Sunday morning.
Where asking for forgiveness overpowered asking for permission and sorrys turned into whiskey shots
and make up ***.
How did we get here
with a drink in one hand and the other around my waist while you lean into me too drunk
to stand on your own.
This is the first time we’ve spoken since that day last June and I can’t help but notice why.
How did we get here
where the power of innocence changed to the courage from alcohol?

1800
Georgie boy
busch
bud
coors
PBR
they slide down the relaxed throat
of an unrelaxed youth
and these red squiggly lines mark my poems
as if to say
hey,
Harry buddy,
you realize that you make no ******* sense,
right?
and who decides what is and what isn't
nonsensical
All I know is that these crazy ******* yankees
are making me lose my grip on the English stiff upper lip reality
My tenth grade history teacher/JV soccer coach
liked to make songs up about me
There's only one Harry Baxter
true.
only not
there are many of us
the good Harry
The bad Harry
Ugly Harry
and swagger Harry
Violent Harry
and introspective Harry
Romantic and evil
caring and selfish
I get drunk to forget everything
life
money
cares
desires
needs
duty
I write about ten ******* poems a day
not because I'm prolific
or inspired
not because I'm deep
or smart
or romantic
I write because it stems the tide of suicidal thoughts
which barrage my inactive mind
like cannon *****
and I've got great ***** of fire
rushing the pace of every word I spit
but I'm afraid of my own genetic cowardice
From grandfather to father to son
it runs through my veins like people and bulls
I'm drunk tonight
I'll be drunk tomorrow
and what the hell do you care?

I can't take you with me
the trail's too steep
but I'll pack a few blurry pieces of you
sea shells and sand grain
boating and Busch Light

I'm rolling up your long, loud laugh
and putting it where the socks go.
so when I rest again,
I can unzip,
and hear you.
through tattered mesh pockets
holding fuzzy drunk photos
too fleeting and fast, your face

I’m taking you with me
The scraps of your smile folded into my sweater
Your voice explodes
As I roll my sunny yellow dress to fit

Perhaps I'll wear your laughter
to a party in some other town
to compliment my flower crown

Inside the betrodden bunkers, the boys lay.

It's a new day. 6 am sharp they awaken with anticipation.

They rise and they march and they bustle throughout camp.

Where their boots break with stressed step. blackened and soiled.

and their singing ceases with a stony look. They stand straight now.

This order they chose,

and this colony they feed.

For its buzz beckons more than a simple salute.

At a weeks end they bring Busch and burgers and sit under a blanket of stars,

and they tell stories of belly dancers and sandy beaches and starlit skies and those big, stifling water bugs in the defact, and they're all grinning because sal's got the hiccups bad. and oh,

how yesterday that man, that boy, with the pacemaker, took his last breath swimming in the brooke.

they laugh it off.

And Busch's bubbles go down smooth,

and they wrestle and they sing, and they call their girlfriends baby.

and their girlfriends call them silly.

and everyone rolls their eyes.

until that buzz fades

and that sun ascends

and their girlfriends say goodbye.

and so, for now,

their clothes lay stacked of the same order and style.

and their body language is a bit broken and bored and still,

and they stand in solemn line

after line

after line

after line

As I reach into the fridge
I Hear a door slam behind me
It was you, pissy yet somehow smiling
That ****** looking grin you constantly had
You always looked like that
I pull out a beer, and set an extra one out for you
Busch Light, of course
Storming into my kitchen, I can smell your perfume
Worn away with the cigarette smoke emanating from your body
I can practically taste it
I watch you as you lazily lay your jacket on the floor
Or throw it, as normal people would say
You always did that
I started for the bathroom, as I heard another door
Your boyfriend
Or as I knew him, your "best friend"
He pulls the same routine
Smiling his ****** smile
Throwing his jacket
Smelling of Newport Menthols
Just like you, he always did that
Me being myself, I ask how his day was
Ignoring the already stagnant smell of whiskey on his breath
Fine, he says rather aggressively
It always was
I forget about my trip to the bathroom,
and head for the kitchen sink
Washing the dishes that you never got to,
and watched your reflections in the window
I saw smiling, and love, and happiness
I always saw that
You threw your can on the ground
In the disrespecting manor that you treated everything
But I was used to it by now
You tell about how you were going to hang out with friends
You both always did that
I said my goodbyes to both you,
and your friend
As you walked barefoot out of the kitchen
I watch you close the door, and come back into my line of sight
Through the large windows in the front of our house
You exchange a glance
You exchange a touch of hands
And I say nothi9ng as you kiss in the illuminated darkness of the street
I grab my beer, and return back to the kitchen
Because that's what I always did
And that's why you did that

Free spirited, opened minded, and an adrenaline ******,
you never took no for an answer,
always suggesting
something outrageous to outdo the time before.
You encouraged me to push the envelope
when I begged you to play it safe.
I was sipping my second Shirley Temple when you swallowed
the last mouthful of your twelfth glass Busch.
You spent the night mumbling snide remarks
about the shirt I was wearing to your friends
across the table while I sat there biting my tongue remembering
I still had ink healing from our last "adventure"
a few weeks ago.
Leaving hours later, I helped you
stumble into your apartment and land on the bed.
I slipped out of my blouse and walked
away trying to ignore your comments while my throat burned.
I couldn’t take the accusations.
      I hated getting to this point,
yelling at each other from across the room until the sun peaked through
the pane of that little kitchen window.
Talking in circles even though we knew
neither of us were going to win.
This time, I assumed would be like any other, ending in
the innocent, small town girl getting sick
from the constant the back and forth
          but you got up.
Walking in my direction, lighting
candles as you went,
creasing my face and pulling me in
you whispered in the voice I hadn’t heard since that first I love you:
I’d rather fight with you than make love with anyone else
    and at the end of the day
I realized that was all that mattered.

Lost and never to be found, the thickness of the forest is growing more and more as we venture deeper, not knowing what lies beyond the next busch, rock, shadow. But its the ever glowing brightness from the moons shine that keeps my path right on track. Ive been in this forest for years, beaten and battered by the stroms but through it all I have stayed grounded and rooted to life. I dont know if ill ever find my way out, but for now the sounds and beauty of nature shall keep me on my way.

IM NEBEL VERSCHWINDEN

My ghost sat
comfortably ensconced

in an armchair
opposite me.

A fire roared
between us.

The whiskey glinted
in the glass

like a thought
held in amber.

Outside a fog had
wrapped the world

in cotton wool
like a memento

in a badly scuffed
lacquer box.

As  host I
offered my ghost

a little something
"...a G&T perhaps?"

My ghost slyly smiled:
"I, never....touch spirits!"

"Ok...!" snapped my ghost
looking very pale

"...let's leave reality
out of this!"

"No tree knows
its neighbour

. . .each alone. . .
. . .each alone. . ."

I muttered
in my mind.

But I must have spoke
my mind out loud.

"What's that?"
hissed my ghost

"That's Hesse...I believe."
I addressed my ghostly alter ego.

"...all about being alone in a mist..."
I mused as if it hadn't been there.

Just an idle
thought like

a dandelion seed
getting  caught in a sleeve.

"And what has that...got to do with this?"
my ghost looked miffed

"Oh, nothing..." I smiled
"...just a feeling."

"Can we skip
the literary stuff!"
my ghost acidly suggested.

"Of course...of course!"
I assured it.

"Im Nebel verschwinden..."
I thought aloud for the last time.

"And do you mind if we use
...English."

"Yes, yes...!" I said
"What ever you say..."

"I'm here because from where I am
I'm not pleased with how you're leading

. . .my life!"

"Hold on a sec!" I said.
"I'm not dead yet!"

"Are you allowed to haunt
your own self?"

"Do you have to get a haunting permit?
Is it the haunting season...am I game"

And so the conversation
dragged on until

yawwwwnnnnnn...dawn

when my ghostly self
felt it had to depart.

Reality had snuk
back in the back door.

I sat in the chair
dead to the world

become my ghostly self
as it happened

and strolled serenely into
the next world.

The fog had lifted.

*

I lose a lot of poems as they pile up in my initial scribbles and I can no longer read my own writing. I have to decipher them after that. This was written before my brother's death and a little while after climbing to take down a book I reach for the next step and it wasn't there and I just entered a fog of nothingness. Came through like a puppet with cut strings and then alright again. My brother was asking me how I write poems and I was telling him the gist of this and other poems that resulted from "this incident'...I little thought that he would slip away from the world and I would lose him forever.

Hermann Hesse's beautiful poem IM NEBEL( IN THE FOG )...is what is running through my mind.

IM NEBEL VERSCHWINDEN means to vanish into the fog. I thought if I am about to vanish then I might as well go out dressed in Hesse's words.

IM NEBEL

Seltsam, im Nebel zu wandern!
Einsam ist jeder Busch und Stein,
Kein Baum sieht den anderen,
Jeder ist allein.

Voll von Freunden war mir die Welt,
Als noch mein Leben Licht war,
Nun, da der Nebel fällt,
Ist keiner mehr sichtbar.

Wahrlich, keiner ist weise,
Der nicht das Dunkle kennt,
Das unentrinnbar und leise
Von allen ihn trennt.

Seltsam, im Nebel zu wandern!
Leben ist einsam sein.
Kein Mensch kennt den anderen,
Jeder ist allein.

IN THE FOG

Strange, to wander in the fog.
Each bush and stone stands alone,
No tree sees the next one,
Each is alone.

My world was full of friends
When my life was filled with light,
Now as the fog descends
None is still to be seen.

Truly there is no wise man
Who does not know the dark
Which quietly and inescapably
Separates him from everything else.

Strange, to wander in the fog,
To live is to be alone.
No man knows the next man,
Each is alone.

–Hermann Hesse, Im Nebel from Unterwegs (1911) in: Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 5, p.

A fantasy
You are to me
A tidy tailored dream
Where all the messy parts of me
Fit neatly in the seam

Where you and I would fall in love
On sparkling Mississippi
You’re captain of our river boat
And I’m the glam-est hippie

Every day is fresh cut fruit
And belly laughs with friends
Chilled Busch Lite in the cooler
Sunny summer never ends

We party at the oyster bar
And laugh ourselves to sleep
It’s candy apple USA
A tan that you can keep

Our tribe is in the valley
With the lighthouse at the dock
We’ll drink and talk our nights away
Amidst the limestone rock

A fantasy
Can only be
Kept while you close your eye
Beneath your stupid captain’s hat
You’re just another guy