crackheads crackheads
gonna rob your house,
gonna sneak into your bedroom
as quiet as a mouse,
gonna steele all your jewlery,
your dog and your blouse

crackheads crackheads
twerkin in a thong
u should have locked your door u *****,
now your computers gone

wide eyed and skinny
high without a penny


run for the hills..
hide all your dollar bills and your
perscription pills
cause theyre out to steele
they've started to get the chills

There are places I have found. There are places that I have gone. People give strange looks with laughter in their eyes when a child walks off on her own into where the ground is not covered with cigarette butts and nothing is paved. Because of them, I go more often and I laugh louder. I have many of these places that are just for my brain and me to inhabit for a while. When I find a less temporary escape from the sickening truths of my own humanity, probably in an UFO, I hope to find others like me tagging along with the aliens that comes to destroy us. And we will all be laughing our ***** off; we saw this coming and packed our thoughts in airtight containers. For now, my thoughts are packed in a backpack with music, a hammock, and some seltzer water. I am walking to get out of here. I find myself getting lost in cornfields and peeing in the woods. It’s rejuvenating. Fresh air and headaches are a perfect match.
                    I am sitting, swinging, hanging from the dancing trees of the crack ******* forests. I think about how every time I chase a squirrel it attacks me. They are fluffy and cute but they want to get inside my house; they want to pry away at my poorly assembled pieces. I’m so unused to that attention and curious affection. I think about my subtly strange mannerisms and my lack of cautious paranoia. These things have had a tendency to intimidate, to make people leave the crowbars in the basement and eliminate any sort of prying. My attributes are intimidating to all but the squirrels. They only seem to see them as weakness. I am still swinging, but my hammock is slipping from the branches now, clinging onto them, a child to its mother. The instructions told me it could hold up to four hundred pounds but even I can hardly hold the weight in between my shoulders. Heavy thoughts are pulling me down. Ropes are slipping more and I can already feel my *** getting sore from this drop. But I do not get off. I keep swinging. My brain is telling my legs to move, my heart is screaming “Save me,” but my legs are not replying. I stay on this hammock, praying that my legs will pull me off before I fall to the ground. I am afraid of being even near to this littered ground. I want the heights. I call for help but only a sigh leaves my mouth. There is no one around to save me anyways. I chose a place in the woods; I chose a place that could grant me the illusion of seclusion…an escape from the trivialities taken too seriously. I cannot wait for someone because this slipping will not even wait for me. I will crash if I do not save myself. I try to coast and the swings get shorter and shorter until they have stopped and I am stationary. In moments I will have more broken parts than I can count.
                     I lie there silent, unmoving, not thinking any longer. Only waiting...finally, I hear snaps of the branches falling and breaking. The ground came up fast. It punched me. It crowded me. It abused me like a misguided lover. I do not wish to be in its arms any longer. But the ground is holding on to my bones, pulling me in. I hit it hard. The drop was farther than I expected. I have no feelings anymore. My nerves have shut off. I am scared. Someone take me some place safe, some place sound…no, take me some place wild. Lying on my back, numb and careless, my eyes are glued to the blueness of the sky above me. I am so relaxed. I hear screaming. I see blood, but I don’t feel pain. I don’t want to know what’s going on, I keep my eyes staring straight up at the view. I ignore everything but the wind-shaped clouds. My mind is gone, lost like all the rest of time. It wore away because I remembered too many times how my father’s hands smelled of sawdust and how they felt like the sandpaper he that used to make it. I try to avoid addressing the situation at hand, things are turning redder. My eyes are filling with blood and it is hard to see. I think about life and the lack of it. All it is really is just memories, without those the only thing that exists is right now. Which doesn’t exist anymore, it’s a different second, and now another. Life is nothing but the time we are losing. Maybe this view of the tree tops framing the sky will be the last thing I see, or maybe I will lay below them again tomorrow. I am glad that everyone must die. It is more beautiful that way.
                          I gulp, a gust of air fills my stomach and it feels like floating. I am still lying down. The smells of illegality, fire, and cut grass fill my ears just like music. Everything mixing together, all into one entity. I am the only thing alone, still lying on my back in the middle of some trees. The same trees I have been crowded by for all of these years, but dug up and replanted on the other side of the country. All of a sudden, I hear something pop. It is the elevation still stuck in my head, the headache I couldn’t defeat. The pain persists and all throughout my head the places and the people that I had made my home were telling me to stay. I am glad that I did not. There is no place or person who could carry my weight. I am my own constant. I am on the ground, just another fallen leaf,  and I am finding a place inside my brain in an attic of ideas where I can peruse the shelves and maintain my insanity. No matter if I am here or elsewhere, I must maintain. They will not make me sane, I won't have it.  Even the pain I feel now, sticks jabbing into my ribs and fear everywhere else, will not be enough to dull me.
                     I had dipped off the path to find myself away from what was familiar and now it pounds in my head, the lack of altitude. Without it my brain doesn’t know what to do. I am worried what I will become when I am alone here. I hear the chapel bells chime in, four rings and then they fade away. I still hear it ringing in my ear, though minutes have passed since it sounded…
                  Ringing…
        Ringing…
Ringing…

“H­ello?”
“Finally you pick up your phone, I’ve left three voicemails today…are you okay?”
“…”

I am sitting, swinging, hanging from the dancing trees of the crack ******* forests. I think about how every time I chase a squirrel it attacks me. They want to get inside my house; they want to pry away at my poorly assembled pieces. I’m so unused to that attention and curious affection. I think about my subtly strange mannerisms and my lack of paranoia. These things have had a tendency to intimidate, to make people leave the crowbars in the basement and eliminate any sort of prying. My attributes are intimidating, but the squirrels only seem to see them as weakness. I am still swinging, but my hammock is slipping from the branches now, clinging on to them, a child to its mother. The instructions told me it could hold up to 400 pounds but even I can hardly hold the weight in between my shoulders. Ropes are slipping more and I can already feel my *** getting sore from this drop. But I do not get off. I keep swinging. My brain is telling my legs to move, my heart is screaming “Save me!” but my legs are not replying. I stay on this hammock, praying that my legs will pull me off before I fall to the ground. I am afraid of being even near to this littered ground, I want the heights. I call for help, only a sigh leaves my mouth. There is no one around to save me anyways. I chose a place in the woods; I chose a place that could grant me the illusion of seclusion…an escape from the trivialities taken too seriously. I cannot wait for someone, this slipping will not wait. I will crash if I do not save myself. I try to coast, the swings get shorter and shorter until they have stopped and I am stationary. In moments I will have more broken parts that I can count.

I lie there silent, unmoving, not thinking any longer. Only waiting...finally, I hear snaps of the branches falling and breaking. The ground came up fast…it punched me. It crowded me. It abused me, like a misguided lover. I do not wish to be in it's arms any longer. But the ground is holding on to my bones, pulling me in. I hit it hard, the drop was farther than I expected. I have no feelings anymore. My nerves have shut off. I'm scared. Someone take me some place safe, some place sound…no, take me some place wild. Lying on my back, numb and careless, my eyes are glued to the blueness of the sky above me. I am so relaxed. I hear screaming. I see blood. But I don’t feel pain. I don’t want to know what’s going on, I keep my eyes staring straight up at the view. I ignore everything but the wind-shaped clouds. My mind is gone, lost like all the rest of time. It wore away because I remembered too much about the times my father’s hands smelled of sawdust and how they felt like the sandpaper he used to make it. I try to avoid addressing the situation at hand, things are turning more red, my eyes are filling with blood. I think about life and the lack of it. All it is really is just memories, without those the only thing that exists is right now. Which doesn’t exist anymore, it’s a different second, and now another. Life is nothing but the time we are losing. I am glad that everyone must die, it is so beautiful.
I gulped, a gust of air filled my stomach and it felt like floating. I was still lying down. The smells of illegality, fire, and cut grass filled my ears just like music. Everything mixed together, all into one entity. I was the only thing alone, still lying on my back in the middle of some trees. All of a sudden, I heard something pop. It was the elevation still stuck in my head, the headache I couldn’t defeat. I had dipped off the path, away from what was familiar and now it pounds in my head, the altitude. Now without it my brain doesn’t know what to do, I only worry what I will become. I hear the chapel bells chime in, 4 rings and then they fade away. I still hear it ringing in my ear, though minutes have passed since it sounded…
Ringing…
Ringing…
Ringing…
“Hello?”
“Pick up your phone, I’ve left three voicemails today…are you okay?”
         "....."

I finally figured a piece that could fit
     Decent enough to mention
          That gets deeper with each visit
     And though it wasn't my intention
       We invented vivid scriptures Shakespeare would weep to
           Crackheads could sleep to
       That's just the calm of absolution as it creeps through
         We never needed a deity's forgiveness or god to bear witness
   To this **** that we do behind closed doors cause in these moments I'm finally yours

      And that's all that should matter

It's on them nights I drink alone. Find myself thinking of home. These beers bottle bones empty and shatter. Liquor lung sigh. Chest heavy like a white trash wind chime. Like a six pack of bud ice hanging from some fishing line. Hear them low notes bouncing of the lips in the wind. And maybe you worry, but ****, I'm fine to drive. And on those days when my gut isn't a gas tank for beer refilling at a pity party pit stop, I drive on love. Write love poems on phones before the ***** knocks me out. And sure, maybe my love makes as much sense as the words I slurr. And maybe my love is as unique as the crackheads needle in the haystack, but I'll still love you serious as a heart attack. Like a stroke... of genius... an epiphany about the realness of God. That maybe the story is flawed, but you're welcome to believe. And maybe I'm drunk right now, but I never meant to deceive. So kiss me with your break lights, while a pray to the slow light that I can live life like an old man feeding birds on a bench in the park. Got nothing else on his mind... just love... you maybe. And whatever you might think. I promise. I'm fine to drive

To and fro as the saying goes
As the afros chase rainbows in search of gold
And the money's ****** dry, 'till the rich only supply
Ways to the make the poor poorer & keep the crackheads high
Then we overdose on sighs that all come at once
The teachers so underpaid that we're soon led by the dunce
And the market's like the breakers of the sea, it just crashes
The 99 sinking in ships while the one percent dashes
We find the dream of the US tainted green
Or to put it correctly, it has been tainted greed
With the day to day in ways that leads to the end
With a knife in your back while they pat it like your friend
So reliance on defiance is the key so defy
All the brainwash and the violence, raise you hands to the sky
And live

i remember us when we were young.
we two little girls,
not yet three,
sitting on my front steps, you
spitting sunflower seeds at my feet
and me ******* on the salt and
saving the insides for later.
we, inseparable at four,
singing and dancing at your bday party
(only two days before mine),
smothering cake all over our faces,
shoving icing covered fingers into our open mouths.

i remember that you were larger than life.
your head was always trying to
catch up with your body,
that expansive geography of
flesh.
even when we were kids, you
would pass your rolls of fat off for *******
(except for that summer, when
i came back and you moved away.
i was the one with the
biggest ******* on the block
then, and
instead of boys,
girls came running, wanting to see
what was hiding under my shirt.

that summer
i started my first love affair
with my new neighbor. the one i said had
the ghetto name? we would meet
in my livingroom- she on the couch and me on the floor
or
me on the couch and she on top of me and
she would lift up my shirt, struggle with my bra
and cradle my budding ******* like newborns.

...i never told you about that,
but i wanted to,
and i'm sure that's the summer when you came back to visit
and tried to get me to come out in your sly way.
you told me, "mali,
what's the point of boys? they're all trouble
anyways." and i mmed,
and you waited
and i changed the subject.

remember that time i bragged to you about smoking ****
for the first time? and little Rich
from up the block
tried to sell us bud, but we told him
we had our own? so to look cool, we stole
your grandma's ****, and i felt bad about it but
you told me it was okay because
she bought it
from my dad
anyway. i remember we rolled
a joint the size of your middle
finger and we smoked the whole thing.
i said i didn't feel nothing, but when your grandma asked us
about it, the only answer i could muster was,
"****?
what's that?"
i don't think she believed me, but she let me off the hook
and i wasn't allowed
to come over for a little while.

i remember being seven
on summer nights
and playing tag in the bushes that separated our houses or
catching lightning bugs in jars across the street
in front of the church because there
adults couldn't hear
our whispers about naughty things
like
cute teen boys and
what *** must feel like.

you seemed
to have so much freedom. you could
walk around the corner,
past the crumbling apartment where
crackheads would stumble out during midday-
all the way to the gas station
to get a huggie and a bag of chips, you said, but
who knew
what exciting adventures you might have had,
what interesting people you might have met?
my dad rarely let me go up and down the street.
i remember being so mad about that that. my big brother said
it was because me and him, we were
different.
now i realize he meant that we were
(supposed to be) better.
back then,
i wanted to be like you.
free to make my own choices. when your grandpa candy
asked me if i wanted to go on a ride on his motorcycle,
my little body shook with disappointment, because i knew
i had to say no. i sat on my front steps and
waited forever
until you came back, half hoping that
you had toppled off, or one of the other
dangerous things my mom warned me about
had come true.

instead,
you came back looking triumphant, your round cheeks
burning
with the excitement of your trip, your
half-permed hair
a messy halo
around your head.

Now:
The EMTs respond.
A Jane Doe is found dead.
Beneath the I-90 overpass.
They lift her
Zip her into a bag,
And transport her to the morgue.
They can’t feel sad.

Today:
The few wispy strands of hair that remain
Dangle haphazardly from her scabby head
Jagged misshapen teeth protrude from dry cracked lips
betraying breath that stinks of infection and decomposition
Vermin gnaw on exposed flesh while parasites feast within.
Her eyes dim as her body putrifies.

Last Week:
Mission workers prop her up against the wobbly chain link fence
A thin blanket is wrapped around her bony shoulders and
Her blue-tarp awning is adjusted
She would be less wet and cold.
For a night.
They leave a cheese sandwich and chicken noodle soup.
The rats eat most of it.
She wouldn’t have kept it down anyway.

Last Month:
The shelter is scary and dangerous.
She couldn’t sleep without nightmares and her screaming disrupted other ‘guests’.
The shelter workers apologize and put her out at 2:19 AM.
She finds a spot between two dumpsters.
It reeks of **** but is unoccupied.
Sometime in the dark she is ***** and beaten by two crackheads.
The crime is unreported.

Last Year:
The fluorescent lights sting her eyes.
The antiseptic smell burns her nose.
The noise and chaos that surround her make her dizzy and disoriented.
She fights hard to get away but is restrained by strong hands – then leather straps.
A painful jab in her arm and then nothing.
Days or weeks later she emerges in a haze.
Kindly eyes greet her.
They stay with her.
They accompany her to the shelter.
They tell her to come back for follow-on care.
She never sees them again.

Before:
The divorce rips her heart in two.
She has nothing.
She is nothing.
Her world crumbles beneath her and she crumbles with it.
Where would she go?
What would she do?
Everything has become so wrong.

Once Upon a Time:
She was happy. Joyful.
Filled with life and hope.
He was smart, funny, successful.
Together they were magical.
Perfect.

The youth of our nation,
Modern civilization
Young people dying in every city
Reflections of their own self pity.

It's sickening...

Friends selling each other deadly drugs
Pillheads roaming around giving fake hugs
Cokeheads blowing out their mind
Potheads in search of their next find
Tweekers wigging out for no reason
Junkies living in the same dark season
Crackheads stealing even a cent
Addicts never paying rent
Mothers giving up their kids
Selling them like an auction for the highest bids
People ******* for their next fix
Prostitutes on every corner turning tricks

Next thing you know,
It's almost the end of the show.
You are broke, homeless, and full of disease
Can't wake, can't sleep, only cough and wheeze
Your body is aching
While family and friends' hearts are breaking.

All this wasted youth, for what,... another high
Just to get you by
Yet another day,
Should you live this way
You will next be seen six feet deep
Forever is your place to sleep.

It's just sickening...

All this wasted youth.
WAKE UP!

Welcome to America
Where they call it the home of the brave
While millions of Americans are working as slaves
Barely passing the minimum wage
As the government gives out food stamps to put out the rage
They check out our mailbox
They listen to our phone calls
They'd do anything to throw us
Back where we came from
Like a pack of animals
Like we're fresh out the zoo
While millions of citizens walk around
Without a fucken clue
About what the government is able to do

Welcome to America
Where they call themselves the land of the free
While 47 million people struggle with poverty
They got more food banks than schools
More negative media on the news
Names like Jamal, Raheem, Abdul
Can't get through an airport in peace
"Zainab Mustafa, Come with us please"
They look at my fam and think they got us all down
Like all immigrants are the same
Like we're all fucken clowns
Got the cops pulling me over for no **** reason
***** looks from left and right
As if I committed treason

They treat us like ebola
Like we're a fucken disease
Anything to get us to leave
No matter what we do,
It will never appease

As if Columbus was the first to walk this land
Not the people with painted faces and feathered bands
Have y'all forgotten the first people here were brown
not white?
Talking about freedom of speech
Like they own the bill of rights
The irony of the first amendment
Freedom of religion
Yet they've still condemned it
To practice anything other than their own
Expecting church to be attended
Expecting us to forget what we've known
"You're in America now! The past doesn't matter!"
I'm not here to fit in
Or kiss someone's *** to flatter

Welcome to America
Once known as Freedonia
Where the cities never sleep
Diagnosed with insomnia
As homeless shelters are packed
And crackheads fill the streets
As government officials lay on Egyptian cotton sheets

Welcome to America
Where there is no war
Where we watch your every move
And predict what's in store
Anything we can do to reassure
A more secure nation
Even if it means cleaning up these immigrant abominations
So have a wonderful stay
In our lovely USA

I'm just a young man
trying to discern
why they say
you gain more and more with each and every day
the reality is I'm nothing
and i don't see the light
its why i stay up till 5 am
every single night

Those who work hard will always get their way
I say that's *******
I still try everysingle day.
I don't have an office a desk or a chair
I wear a **** gun and get spit on in my hair
My head is on a swivel
my my hand is on my gun
I wear a vest of Kevlar
and i search for the one
the one who will take my life
I fear its almost done.

Some people tell you if you wai
Then the good will come
have patience man in the meantime
Dude just have some fun
well that ain't too easy smokin' butts from a tray
having no gas and no food its not the easy way.

I'm 30 years old
I don't have a future
my cars a pt crusier
well I'm just a loser
my job isn't great
Im a cop that is for hire
I only deal with liars
While my *** is in the fire.

I want so much more than the hand that life has dealt me
chin up, look straight , hard work
you cannot tell me
I push seventy hours in a week for nearly nothing
at least if i was someone
my life would be worth something

So I'll just go to work in the cold and in the rain
Ill chase down those who cause havoc
those who cause us pain
Ill deal with the insults
the snickers and the laughter
you're admiration and affection
that's not what I am after.

My badge reflects who I am
just like a mirror
a man with little skills
except tactics and terror
a guy who does the hard ****
without even a letter
of appreciation from anyone around me,
they see me daily and they just poke fun at me
I do what I do because I have a calling
to prevent the good folk
from crying, falling and just dying.
I run towards what everyone runs away from.
crackheads bangers and loaded guns.

Dusty?
Dusty & cheesy
Poems that are poured by yours truly
Rhyming to the brink of uncertainty.

Well, tainted hearts love company
Especially, one such as thee
I'll wipe the dust away
With mayhem and glee.

What can I say?
Writing drags me away
No need for **** or ecstacy
Save them for crackheads in the alley.

Did I improved?
Did I journeyed?
Nah

Just less cheesy
A little bit more minty

Police sirens up and down the street
Broken window glass hitting concrete
              relieving a robbers itch
Crackheads by the Circle K yelling 'bout their fix
  While homeless lay drunk in a ditch
Another dead body in the canal
A gang rivalary renewed now
              Gunshot sounds drown out
Police sirens up and down the street
Broken window glass hitting concrete
Among the sizzling Phoenix heat

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                        Confederate Crackheads Flying a Kite

Barefoot and shirtless, pounding the sand with their feet
Old men running about in front of their trailer
In and out among the lawn-art debris
Launching a kite above their Confederate flags

Above the Trump flags, pine trees, power lines
Beer cans and broken toys and engine blocks
Marijuana rolled in an overdue electric bill
A Second Amendment sticker on a clapped-out Ford

Hollering through their few remaining teeth
A celebration of something beyond themselves

We don't talk all that much these days.
In fact, we don't talk at all.
But I'll never forget
When we were kids
And our secret dream,
To run away together.

The dream grew brighter
When it turned into a plan.
We had our bags packed and ready to go.
A pair of jeans and a sweater,
My guitar so we could busk,
One **** dress in case times got hard,
And the money
Your mother hid in her dresser.
We'd take the train,
Get the hell out of here,
And never look back.
We said I'd cut my hair,
So they would never find us.

We never quite knew
What we were running away to be.
Rockstars, hookers,
Crackheads, or movie stars.
We didn't care.
We were young and wanted an out,
And the city
Was calling our names.

We never did run away.
I guess I knew all along
That we never would.
But I don't regret any of it.
Any of the planning,
Any of the dreaming.
Because that dream,
That hope of an out,
The idea of there being an escape
No doubt kept me going.

I still think about you often,
And our run away dream.
We were dreamers alright.
Or maybe we just hated this town.
Maybe we were just young.
Maybe we read too many books
And watched too many movies.
Or maybe it all goes back
To that same song.
The one where he stands outside
Her bedroom window
And begs her to come outside.
"Come outside,"
He'd say,
"Come outside.
Out the window,
Down the fire escape,
And run away with me."

The crackheads
want the good gear
even though it doesn't matter
they are going to take that eight-ball
and smoke it all

All wide-eyed and sketchy
teeth rotting out of their head
scanning the floor for any dropped crumbs

Another run for a twenty stone
to be drawn down deep with another and another

Good gear they say while grinding there stubby stumps
too wired to think of anything else but the crack

The sores on their bodies skinny rakes for a frame
A bad reputation with their drugs to blame

The nights and the days they very much mesh together
until they run out of funds that were begged for borrowed or stole

The crash is inevitable the cycle as well
the lives they lead are a living hell.

I love New York streets
The sound of speakers pumping beats
Is oh so sweet

Skyscrapers reach for the clouds
and then the stars at night
A canvas speckled
with neon lights

Sirens blare from far away
And traffic never slows
Cars fill the streets
No matter where you go

So many cultures in one place
But still people only care
About race

Cats howl and hiss
In an alley stinking
Of human ****

Thousands of empty apartments
Laying in wait
But the homeless stay homeless
And they call it fate

High fashion
Low self worth

Taxis, bodegas, newsstands, and fruit stands galore
We are 8 million strong and still
Growing more

Hustlers hustle any hours
Crackheads fiend in the streets
for months without a shower

Nodding out junkies sway
Almost falling down
All beautiful, *****, loud and bright
Things make up my town

So chaotic
But all seems to work
This is what it's like
It's why

I love New York

we are crackheads
we are not cis
we are not straight

we like messing around
and going on mall dates.

we ate,
we ran,

but i really dont want this fun to end.

she laughs,

she cries.


he laughs,

he cries.


we're having fun

on this small mall date.

We celebrate Juneteenth as if the war was not still being fought
Across news stations and echoes of Jefferson's dreams
The last slaves freed, but this country was never
Reconstructed, just patched up just replaced
Chains with debt, a Theseus ship of spoils pulled
From the wreckage of ****. And I sit the echoes
of police sirens slung like clubs across the backs of the
Boys that sat in my classroom and wondered
Why every white person they met always had
To yell so much. As if there was nothing at all
to be exchanged besides recreating Hegel’s dialectic.
As if the only way to win was in blood. And perhaps
That is what Juneteenth really teaches us, that blood
Shed long enough will lead to ghosts, whispered
Warnings we ignore. As if a million bodies buried across
The South was not enough of a reminder that we needed
To **** to have the enslaved seen as people. We celebrate the
Day we no longer had to bury bayonets in bodies
To treat humans as humans. And they still can't see it.
Don’t realize that if you take away the last plate of food,
That if you turn off the power, that if the dollar can't fill the tank
What comes from desperation is a blood-born tsunami
full of the ghosts of dead racists and stolen children,
full of collateral damage and crackheads hooked on crystal
                    Sold to them by the CIA.

This country cannot swallow the blood needed to clear its cup.
But at least we gonna barbeque and vote, and Dream, and read.
At least we gonna explain to the children that this was the day
The last slaves were freed when there are still hungry mouths to feed.
At least we gonna sit with Baldwin, or Miles, or Kendrick, and unhinge
Our throats like snakes swallowing what the storms sing from suffering.
At least we can carry that truth. If only for a day. If only to free the last
Mind slaves still believing that the war is over, the dead silent,
The constitution holy, the senate fair, the president controls gas prices,
The bullet not already loaded, the school doors not already locked,
The rich earned it, the news aint propaganda, the children martyrs
The blood in our bodies not singing requiems to the pain of our ancestors,
At least we gonna pretend that this country actually free.

The landlord told us never to go on the roof.
We take to borrowing others, tiptoes clanging on steel and iron
My knees rubbing gravel and asphalt.
We finish the wine and **** three stories up.

Most days we sit curled on broken patio chairs
Cigarette to split
No, I want my own.
Unspoken fourth neighbor snoresputtercoughsnortsneezes from the corner.
*******, Chaz.
We didn't come, by pick up truck and bicycle, to live above crackheads again.
I could smell it, those May mornings.
Misha, always sick, he said.
He was.

You were always the Junction.
Where
drunken promises
sober **** ups
idle hope
came and met ****** up ugly only to straighten out again.
Destined Final Resting Place of my last drops of liquor.
In a way it could never amount to more than that.
A wasteland we did nothing but lay waste to.

Avery taught me how to french inhale sitting on the hood of her 74' Ford something or other.
Fishnets Valu Village miniskirt, lakeside cold
Her zippo lighter roman candle flash bright.

Didn't I steal that?
Didn't I, one winter darkened morning, rifle through your jeans for TTC fare and a fiver for an Egg McMuffin?

Who can remember.

Blackout blinds and ditzy drunk, I lost
My breath it tangled with your fairy lights
Words like ripped petals collapsed, sad,
On your sheets and we are such teenage cliches
I cried about him one more time when I got home

It felt like the moon, fuzzy and good, you said
I was telling the truth but the vermouth
Hinted I was lying just a little and I was
Undressed to my bra watching fake plastic stars
Swimming in positive vibrations from your speaker
Thanking you for caring

We weren't ****** but we acted like crackheads and still
I cried about him one more time when I got home
The solar system came full circle, it wasn't
Solipsisim anymore, I'm not alone
It's not a simulation I really am hungover
And very glad to be a part of your universe.

As a man
Working with your hands is the most rewarding feeling one can know
I enjoyed building fences with the crackheads
Tearing the door frames off of a worn down trailer home in the boonies
Even washing dishes with the Mexicans and reformed jailbirds
I took my pitiful wages with pride because they were earned through these hands
The frats—effeminate men—and women never seemed to understand
Everyone says to do what makes you happy until what makes you happy doesn’t afford you a Bentley
Then all of a sudden
You
       Aren’t
                   Doing
                              ****.
Your ambition is called into question

It's quiet in Phoenix,
Ain't no cars driving down,
Even the crackheads are tucked in,
It's only midnight,
And birds confused,
Sing far away songs,
The crickets forgot what day it was,
And wont stop a chirpin,
Old texts and dogs barking at tumbleweeds,
But there isn't any wind,
A plane makes more noise than my mind is,
And that's alright,
Air conditioners blast their melody,
While the lone car,
Confused at which street to take,
I say outloud, "I guess none of us really do."
The loneliness is fading,
With streetlamps wondering what's it's job,
Don't worry,
Just keep doing what you're doing,
The porch light dies,
And what's left,
Just them dogs,
And the crickets,
Goodnight Phoenix.

the wrong side of town
where the crackheads lie
a bud at their side
high schoolers who’ve ruined their lives
here they reside
their pale skin is concealed by a hood
raised to disguise their bloodshot eyes
they smell of sadness and regret
they smell of mould and sweat
they smell of addiction, of denial
another life lost to the clouds

I'll be rich soon  when  my Litecoin finally takes off.
been making a nice profit lately    and I'll be able to check in at the Mandalay
bay.

get myself a room   and 30 escorts
and snort some coke   and drive in a ferarri with a ****** while throwing wads of 1s at crackheads.

That's making it.


Really I should have been born in a   yurt 2000 years ago,
hunting elk with my forebears   and laughing heartily
as we sip
the honey    wine  and  dance over a   fire in the dim night  where time is meaningless
and death is only natural.


but I'll make do with my options