Hail John Elwood, in his prime, caught in rooms flesh-colored
Pinned beneath his father's roof, alone and with no money
Looking for a fix, or flesh, or rhythm in the halls

Low John Elwood, creeping off, in women's clothes and make-up
Snapping twigs and branches, bent on internet pursuits
Tapping out a destiny in pitter-patter keystrokes
Seasoned in the unkempt dust of laundry-room decay

Soft, soft, soft John Elwood, crying out in fever
Bent a back toward a screen to fill the world with lights
Consuming stuff in subtle ways, a pizza clown in candor

Shiny, shiny Elwood, John, the man of lowly passions
Holding open doors for joy of disembodied jerseys
Strutting through the dog-food walk, geometry of angels

used to try writing raps
my version of stealing from blacks
near had a heart-attack over the fact
aint nothing worse than a white assed mac
back to the roots with my poetic muse
but I refuse to lose the blues
or act like they aren’t my bad news
see, I too have worn out shoes
solidarity and commonality through being poor
letters to Santa scratched into the cold dirt floor
always living hungry, afraid to ask for more
only thing ever offered freely was access to the front door
you know..  “complaining ***, get the **** out”
leaving very little room for anyone to doubt
there was nothing of my station granting me any version of clout
and fingerprints across my face were the answer to a pout
now I just stick with poetry, was never really a thief
well except that little piece of coral from the Hawaiian reef
or my trip to Jamaica when I ripped off that spleef
or the time after all that trimming I had 11 pounds of keef
those are all lies I have barely been off the west coast
I wanted you to be impressed so I had to try and boast
like that was the only way you would think I was ‘the most’
guess I will go do my Elwood impression and have some plain white toast

You can knock upon my door
You can ring my brass bell
But I have nothing for to say
Of vague interest I can tell
My front steps may fool you
Leading up into my place
They give out false directions
They lie right to your face
For I'm just inwardly far away
Mentally gone elsewhere
Sorry for the trouble you had
Go back away with care
Gippeto had that wooden boy
Elwood, his giant rabbit
I construct that I am not here
There you do not have it