Captured in the psych ward, Jesse Jameson' entry



Today Ron went into his usual cafe to buy a coffee and cake and

While he was in there he met Jesse Jameson who was in the store

Hiding from the police after robbing the local bank, and Jesse proved

That he was a nice gut, ya know too nice for prison and as soon as

Ron heard about the bank robber being Jesse Jameson, he tried to

Convince the magistrate that Jesse needs to be put in the psych ward

Instead of prison, and when Ron did the medication rounds, he gave Charlie

His, and Charlie said, I heard on the news that we might be getting a bank robber

In this psych ward, and Ron said, well, yeah, we could be, it is up yo the magistrate,

And you do know that you have to behave yourself if he does, because he could turn

Nasty, and as Jesse was in the holding cell, he was feeling the hooligan in his feet

In the form of an itch and Ron came in to say hello, and talk about,what the lawyers

Have planned for you, you see, what you need is, you need to be on your best behaviour

You don't commit any crimes between now and next Monday and, there will no problem

Of you going to the psych ward, you see I am bending over backwards and Jesse sat there

Scratching his toes, and Ron asked have you got tinnea or dermatitus in your feet, and

Jesse said no, it is the fact I am in here, instead of the psych ward, you see I didn't mean

To rob that bank and I can tell you why I did it, and Ron said, well, why did you, and Jesse

Said, well, I was hearing voices that I couldn't control, and before you say it, I am not

mentally ill, you see I am just a man who needed a few dollars to feed my family and Ron

Said, well, yeah, we have to get a psychiatric examination anyhow, because you broke the

Law, Jesse, you had a gun, you could have killed someone, you are risking jail time, and if

You pass the psych test, you could go to the psych ward, for as long as it takes for the

Medication to work and Jesse said, ok, so, if I pass the psych ward I get off in a psych ward

Instead of jail, what about my reputation with my mates, we used to laugh at the mentally ill

And Ron said, yeah, so I will come 2 hours before the court case, to give you a psych

Evaluation and then we'll see whether you pass to come here, but Jesse, I am sorry, you

Ain't fit for society, the psych ward is the safest place, for you, so psych test is your best bet

Buddy, and then Ron went home and ordered a pizza and fell asleep in front of the box

And woke up, and had to miss his cup of coffee, to go to the police holding cell to give

Jesse his psych test and after he did that, he gave the test results to the lawyer and went to

Cafe to have his cup of coffee and vanilla slice and said, ya know, that guy who was here

Yesterday, the big day has arrived, and hopefully we will get our wish of having him in the

Psych ward, but, I glanced at his psych test, it looked normal, and I said, this guy was

Hearing voices, and as soon as he had his food he went to the court to find out whether

Jesse will be sentenced into his care and Ron arrived at the holding cell, to pick him up

And drive him to court, hoping that he will get the chance for Jesse to join his HDU and

After 3 hours of being in the court, hearing god knows what, and when the magistrate

Came back, he closed the case, and said, I sentence Jesse Jameson to the care of Ron

Coopers HDU, suffering from schitzophrenia and Jesse thanked Ron, and for the first 2

Weeks Jesse, was isolated from the others till they have his medication right, but Jesse had

A TV in the room and he lied on his bed and watched TV and then Ron brought around the

Night time medications and that was including Jesse's and then Ron clocked off and

Went home to make spaghetti bolognaise and watched TV and then fell asleep on the couch

And Jesse was making noise all night, so much in fact the nurses need to give him ******

To settle him down and the next morning Ron got a phone call saying that Jesse needed to

Settle down, so we gave him a ****** and Ron went straight to the HDU and gave Jesse his

Morning medication, and said, you need to relax at night, and Ron left after Jesse said

I will try, try ******* you


Sent from my iPhone

The sleeping teeth therapist




Brains Jameson was a dentist who was killed in a car accident in 1987, and mind you
He had a very good imagination, you see he hated to go to the dentist, because he was too poor to have major work done, and he did a course in dentistry, which he did pass, but after 5 years of looking for a dentist job, he almost gave up, and I say almost because on his way to another job as a dentist he was killied in a car accident, and his life was over, untill now.
You see Brains had an old girlfriend who has just got a job as a dentist in downtown Canberra, and she really wanted to keep this job, and brains saw this as an opportunity to bring reincarnation to the next level, you see Brains decided to go into his old girlfriends mind and try to get his girlfriend to go into business with him, and at first his girl who was Roslyn Matherson said that going into partnership with a dead man, is the worst business decision that she could ever think of in the whole world.
The only thing is Brains knew he was dead, but he knew also that he can use some death power way to make this work, but still Roslyn hated the whole thought about losing her practice, but being noble, with her heart set on this being just a dream, asked Brains how,
And Brains said that I can make a pill that you give patients that really can't afford to pay the big bill, and that pill will be on prescription when to take it, and as soon as it is taken, he'll fall asleep and he or she will be lifted up and I will operate on their teeth in the big dentist up on the sky, and I will only take the poorer ones, because I ain't gonna need profit up here.
Roslyn said to Brains,sure why not, and them woke up thinking that her head must be really knocked up to have this crazy hairbrain scheme coming up, but what Roslyn didn't know was that Brains has found a way to get his plan to work, you see, because he is now dead he can unleash his spirit and make businessmen make silly decisions, like suddenly inventing a pill that did the work of a dentist without seeing one, and it doesn't take the pain away, it was exactly what was in Roslyn's dream, and Roslyn said to her boss, this is the shonky work of Brains Jameson, there is no way this pill will fix your teeth, and besides if we give patients easy answers, they won't pay the bill, and the boss who was under the influence of Brains Matheson, said no Ros it's only the poor that will try this, normally poor people want easy answers anyway, and besides it had been approved by the dentist board, cause they tried this on rats with tooth decay, and Ros they haven't got any signs of tooth decay, it's like someone is running a cheap dentist in another world, and Ros said don't even joke about that, but she had no choice but to except and the first patient to get the pill was Phil Desser, who was poor with no job, and went to see Ros, who said you need to have Root Canal therapy and she discussed the pill option with him, and if the pill doesn't work, she will fit the bill, and Phil really hated the dentist so much, this pill option was cool, so he tried, and read the pack and he needs to sleep straight away for this to work and when he was asleep
Phil was lifted up and brains worked on his root canal, and he seemed to know exactly what he wss doing, and  the next morning Phil woke up and hey presto the pain was gone, and then he went to the dentist and Ros looked at it, and the roof canal wss gone,  and Phil was on his way to recommend the pill to all his friends, yes, this was a cheap way to have work done without surgery, and then George Bernsally came to see Ros and complained about the price of the dentist, and it really ahouldn't cost that much, and after arguing the point day in and day our, Ros eventually tried the pill on him to put a filling in his teeth and yes he took the pill, and again Brains brings him up and hey presto he worked on giving him that filling, and when he woke the next morning, he felt like a new man and saw Ros and again she noticed it was gone and Ros went home and tried to argue with Brains spiritually and Brains said thanks, I always had a dream to make dentists cheaper and you saw yourself that I get rid of their problems, you see I want to be greedy and have anybody, but you need to be busy, so I will take the low income people from you, and Ros agreed at the moment while the poor are happy with the whole thing.

Sitting on my bed
Gazing out at the view
Laptop in lap
I wonder
Being of mixed race
The truth of my origins
The blood coursing through my veins
Goffle they would say
But iv always believed a man's skin colour doesn't define who he is
Kwabulawayo
A place where he is being killed
Home of the Ndebele
My hometown
Built on the ruins of a Royal town
uMzilikazi ,Leander Starr Jameson ,Lobengula ,Cecil john rhodes
Men of courage
Black and white
Fought struggles
Years before my birth
Mater Dei Hospital
My journeys beginning
My grandfathers end.
Joy and pain
My hearts memories
From Primary
Whitestone
Green fields
Where i spent my childhood
Life's little joys
Clay-yaki
In the rain
Barefoot.
Speargrass
How it stung
Running through the grass
Taller than i was
Forts
Built with shoelaces
Marbles
Fights in the sand
Afternoons spent picking mullberyys
The girls dormitory
Offbounds.
Matrons
Got me the cain
Thursday Nights
Prefects Priveleges
Sports
Cross country
The houses of Tuli, Shangani, Shashe
lifelong friends made
A place frozen in memory
Home of the best years of my life
Tears streaming down
Every Sunday evening
The way back
A boarders sentiment
Lasting 5min till reunited with friends
Tuck shared
Eskimo Hut
The Green Mamba Or Pink Panther
The food hall
Quiet
Till dessert came
Mr Haworth
Everyday
"The queen would be disgusted if she saw u eating"
The tide of his time
Wandering around my childhood
I bumped unintentionally into
Maturity
Starless nights
First kisses
A little bit older i was

Moon on the horizon.
Soft breeze rattles the
brambles out by the
old barn.
The cat enters, looks
about and begins to
speak.

“Fears take flight after years
of drinking the tears away
while the days responsibilities
are laughable in the light of
satori's brilliant realization.
Silly, silly man, thinking reality
something to achieve, a destination
to discover, a journey to undertake.
Listen and I will tell you what little
I have learned burning away my
short time on this horizon of
understanding.
All that is transitory is a metaphor
for the eternal and all that is eternal
is a metaphor for the self.
The self is the collective consciousness
we all share and what we share is our
experience of being.
Being is nothing but an illusion created
in the mind of God while God is simply
a metaphor for eternity in the mind of
man.
Now pour me some kibble for I know
many things, but do not possess opposable
thumbs”.

I woke with a start, cursing the spinning
room and swearing never to mix Jameson
and Absolute again.
The cat finished her kibble and crapped
in the litter box.

In pubs with bar flies.
Kronenburg, Becks, Carling, Stella Artois and Fosters,
Dancing in our blood,
Utterly inured; we are endured by all:
The solipsism most profound.

And when Johnnie, Jack and Jameson join,
The sentimental and the morbid
Are conjoined.

And ****!
In the custody of beer halls,
The shadows that draw, fade,
And calls – e’en Death’s! -- are put on hold!
No time; instead, before the last, another pint.

For in this hallowed inn,
Drinking what’s in the glass,
And espousing the glow within,
Cares regress.

No woes,
Or loaded psyches,
For when the pressure builds,
The best: a jet of yellow bliss,
Relieves the pain,
On Armitage Shanks' porcelain.

Take the bottle of Jameson
my favorite one
triple distilled like a loaded gun
Imported Irish whiskey
makes you feel frisky
so drink up quickly
before the bottle's gone
Pass it around to and fro
lost in a thousand gulps
a quickly slowing pulse
my favorite flavor
my one true savior

As a child so crippled with words
you Sir understood me
for my dyslexia suffering
was not a point of question then

Your faith I was kinda intelligent
older then my age
it stayed with me Sir
and I will always remember you

Your John Lennon glasses
the way you smiled with kindness
I will never forget you Sir
for I treasure you're sweet face

So I say once again
thank you Mr Jameson
for your hope and kindness
gave me faith to become me.

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

My mind drifts on days like this.
Endless nights spent drinking Jameson from the bottle.
Stars faded,
I told you all my secrets
And you swore to keep them.

I've kissed this whiskey bottle too many times reminsicing about your lips. A heartbreak and a hangover.

The truth it wavers
In mine eye
But the whiskey
It never lies
The smoked out burn
A liquid caress
That helps me slip out
Of my dress
And into bed
With book and glass in hand
To a peaceful
Troubled rest

Empty Bottles align in the light, Reflect the shattered soul, Broken down to the last drop ****** the cork like the wolf harvests bone, The devil within busts through the held open door, Societies vessel of acceptance, ignorance in a swig and a sip ****** up the wall, I Doubt it’s worth the loss of yourself after all.

Dignity as fragile as the brown paper bag, Held around the chalice of your disgusted pride, Bottle after Bottle are you even allowed to call yourself alive, Hooked to the bottom of the glass, Any excuse even if the next ones your so-called last.

Friends and fortune faded, The bottles figure jaded in the light of your dim-witted realise, Nothing else to do but sit back and enjoy the ride

The Reaper sits across the bar, Sickle in hand pouring bottle after bottle never drifting very far, No strings to pull as the tender waits, Bottle like a shotgun, the mixer shakes, the distilled Deity waiting to deliver the last call.

Before the turn, No Misery or Shame, In the end, Is it really the bottle or the man who’s to blame.

a tumblr full of rocks
a pour of ichiro malt
and a stir
gan bei
and
ichi
to the yamazaki and nikkas
i am in the land of the sun
i go down to the land of the dead
mei hi ko
anejo
casa amigo,
to my brothers in arms
jose, i must have my agave
cheers to the alamo
to the land of the prohibition
kentucky
yippee kay yay
bourbon,
spicy rye kick
spur to the horse
giddy up, giddy up
riding off into the sun
set to kentucky
derby
bourbon
ballentines
tom ford west
make your mark
with maker’s mark
bottoms up
and now i am staggering
vichi patia
better than grey goose
aunt jiin
and all the cult gin
navy strength and **** juice
getting rowdy
like irish bloke jameson
and that **** scot
macallan
and his gang
oiban, glenfiddich, and
glenlivet
I am livid
at that *******
son of peat
another round
i am monkeying around
monkey 47
sun set
sun rise
*** on the beach
i see kings and queens
louis thirteen
i am going to sleep
pappy van winkle
100 years
like rip van winkle
don’t wake me
stir and not shaken
good night, mama
sweet havana
neat
a shot of don papa
i go to sleep

Grass knee high around the house
and the paint is coming off
a snake slithers after a mouse
on the porch I hear a cough

An old man sits there
rocking forth and back
one arm missing from his chair
next to him, magazines stacked

His eyes are dark and sunken
he is as skinny as a rail
at first I thought him drunken
but his words, clear as a bell

Sonny what you doing here?
as he spied the Wendy’s sack
haven’t seen anyone in a year
wasn’t sure they was coming back

I sat down and swatted flies
and took a drink of tea
I offered him my fries
and he ate them with glee

I told him I was cruising land
to build a new highway
I asked him who he was
ignored is what he say

By the kids and the state
no one comes around
alone since the death of his mate
the birds his only sound

I walked to the truck to get a beer
when I turned around
there was no one near
no house and no man, just an earthen mound

The mouse ran by as my mouth hung
the snake still close behind
a lonely bird song sung
I wonder if I lost my mind

The red clay mound
covered with straw of pine
Jameson Pounds
written on a fallen sign

fade into a crowded bar,
smoky, wispy;
three bar stools,
empty.

enter our three heroes
(or our three victims),
strangers.
they each take a seat,
throwing sideward glances lightly, curiously.
they hail from three different worlds
(but they're three sides of the same die).
and they all
hurt.

"shot of jameson."
the words seem to come from the stool,
only reverberating through a man in his forties.
two strangers glance sideways again, nodding slightly;
both gesture sideways with a wave of a wrist
and a point of a finger
before looking back down to the wood paneling
which seems to swirl and crack into a world all its own.

the jaded veteran of life is the first to get his drink,
followed by the frizzy haired young woman,
and then the boy who could be no older than twenty three.
three shots laid on the counter;
gulp.
three shot glasses clinking empty against the counter.

we all drink to forget, i think
(and the man, the girl, and the boy are no exception)

the man isn't happy
(and neither is his wife).
his world is woven of arguments and broken plates,
lost and tarnished love.
the burn of whiskey is nothing new
(more the burn of alcohol on a fresh wound).
his bar visits start with a head scratch and a sigh
and end with a taxicab back to his musty pillow
(and his musty love).

a tap on the shoulder,
he turns to look behind him.
"jesus, ****, bob! i've seen prettier expressions on train wrecks!  come sit with the guys."
he chuckles,
they stand
arms around each other's shoulders
to a darker corner.

the man needs to forget his life
(and the frolicking through meadows he thought it'd be).

two shots on the bar,
two empty glasses thud.

it burns, but she's had worse.
the girl hasn't been so lucky.
thrown bottles and cigarette burns are her world,
and the liquor is her respite from remembering
deadbeat dad
and mom,
who
(bless her heart)
wasn't there to stand in the way.
but she's better now,
all on her own
(or so she tells herself).

the ring of a cellphone pierces the chattering of the scene
briefly
before the click;
she answers.
"oh hey.  your flight's in?  sure, be right there."
her heels click against the floor,
the bar stool legs creak with her exit.

the girl needs to forget her jagged recollections
(though they pull from her like barbed wire from a corpse)
so she can forgive.

a lone shot on the bar.
a lone glass full no more.

his mouth stings like a newborn's being rubbed with the *****.
he won't ever get used to the sting of good liquor
(or of wanting her at his side through cold nights).
he didn't want school or work,
striving or achieving,
or his name in print.
just their fingers intertwined, or her head upon his chest
(because secretly, he can't fall asleep,
no,
not when she had the most lovable look in her snooze).
but his affection spans mountains, fills trenches, trails from rockets blasting through the galaxy
even though his sleeve-pinned heart has been skewered without remorse
more times than he could count when he was six years old
(so, why does it come as a surprise to him that the same couldn't be said of her?).
he tells himself he'll learn how to **** and not love
(so next time he won't have to drink himself back to normal).

another
shot.

*he drinks away his future
instead of past or present
(because he needs to forget how to love).

I want to be the Ginger Rogers
to your Fred Astaire
the rocks of ice
in your Jameson glass,
I want to be the girl
you sing about
or the lit cigarette
your lipstick marks
Chanel rouge noir,
I want each embrace
you encounter
to touch me too
through the spaces,
I'd even be the words
in the book
you lift to read at night,
I just simply want to be
every single
missing piece
you've ever felt
or ever needed,
I want to be Cupid
stealing your heart
selfishly for
my own pleasure,
oh what toil and trouble
a girl unhinged
her unbalanced mind
bursting bubbles of blood
through her boiling passion
deep within the skin.

© Sia Jane

James,
You've changed,
You're an inconsistent fool
And I am at my wits end
Of that sinkhole
You insist on calling a swimming pool
There is no shallow end
There is no cool relief
No getting out
Only your hard headed notions
You knock around
And swear belief
One day soon
That belief you kick around
Will drown your shouts out
And on that day
I won't be about

The wind howled outside of the lean to and Brian knew that it was only a matter of time before the chill settled in and the last breath of life would leave his body. He thought about his family back in the city and he could not bring to mind any bad times tho he knew that there were many. He thought of his marriage and how beautiful his wife had looked on her wedding day walking down the aisle escorted by her grandfather who had a tear in his eye. He remembered the way her dress and her hair flowed behind her as if there were some slight breeze that had hit her at just the right angle to make it possible. He remembered trying not to cry and to only smile the closer she got to him and how he nearly lost his composure when her grandfather handed her off to him. Brian thought of their first born who he called Maggie but  was named Magnolia by both parents and his wife still used that name. She would be turning sixteen this year and he had not been around as much lately as he had liked but he felt that she knew he would always be there. A tear rolled down the wind bitten cheeks of Brian and began to slow once it got close to his chin, partially leaving a frozen trail from eye to tears end. He thought about Maggie as a little girl, perhaps around the age of five, and the fishing trips that they would take out on the lakes of Minnesota. He remembered the first time that she had baited the fishhook herself and how proud both she and he were when she had caught a ten pound walleye with that same hook. Brian wanted desperately to hold onto that moment for the rest of his life and swore he would never forget and all thruout the years of his life it was one memory that we went back to anytime he felt low and out of place with everyone and everything around him. Brian thought of his two sons, Jameson and Benjamin, twins that could not have been more different. Jameson was great at sports and thrived on competition where Ben was more artistic and would often be found doing volunteer work. Tho they had many differences, they were brothers thru and thru and never had a bad moment together. Brian and Ruth Ann had raised there children right; he knew that much was true and felt the pang of sadness pierce his heart as he felt the anguish of his wife when she heard the news that he was dead and she would have to finish raising them alone. He knew she would do just fine and he wanted to tell her so, to comfort her somehow even tho he wouldn't be around but he had no way of doing so and instead shivered beneath the lean to and continued thinking of his family to keep his mind active. After a short while tho he felt his brain slow and the memories became distant like dreams do after a few moments of being awake. Brian closed his eyes tightly and forced himself to think and focus. He thought about the last family photo that they took and how grown up everyone was becoming and how much love was still in his wife's eyes and he lied down on the cold ground with that image in his head and he slipped into a sleep from which he knew he would not wake up from but still he smiled at his memories and hoped that even without him his children would continue being happy and would grow further and start their own families which would have their own families and so forth. He hoped his wife would be strong and keep on and if she should find someone else he hoped she would not let Brian be the thing that kept her from living. Before Brian exhaled his last breath, he saw Maggie baiting the fish hook and smiling the way a child does. Brian smiled too and slipped into death.

I rode a curb side
dust devil into
the low side of
town.
Found myself
adrift right along side
the lip stick stained
cigarette butts,
empty dime baggies and
a city days worth
of welfare diapers
and plastic bottles who
will out last us all.

Same old dogs
along the same
old streets.
Dogs so old
they no longer
lift their legs to ****.
Its a bit shameful
but a Hell of alot
less painful just
to let it go where
you lay or stand.

Bad kids with
big sticks and
fist fulls of
C cell batteries
chase the winos
along the railroad tracks.
They generate
terror and call it fun.

Televised Gods
for your televised mind.
Fall asleep with the
lights on ,leave
something to guide
me back home.

Blame it all on me
and I'll leave before
the hate sets in.
My time here is
far past due,
summers over and
the rare California rains
have come in.

I came only for the
weather and whatever
there was to drink.
Moonshine Cherries and
Jameson on ice.

The conversations all died with
that last bottle of whisky.
The mason jars are all empty
and this passing moment
feels right
for me to leave with.

I died a few times in the night.
Hungry lips are decades away.
My passport is locked up tight
in the safe in my closet.
I’ve been a poet for so many years now,
but this feeling will always be
ineffable.
All the nudists riding bikes past my window,
all the love songs, all the sad songs,
all the lens flares and strong ‘o’ sounds,
and Jameson, always Jameson;
my hands get shaky
and tap out
you—you—you
on the coffee table
and suddenly I’m spilling drinks on myself
and I need to go for a run
and I feel sick to my stomach
and none of this makes sense.
I see the maintenance man every morning
and he says,
“Just another day in paradise”
and I actually believe him.
It’s easier when you’re so far away
because I don’t have to worry about
having you and then not having you.
I am terrified of the valediction.

Yellow jackets’ yellow jackets
Licorice made of Venison
Stand over there, quite queer, my dear
While I drink a handle of Jameson

**** wizards and Eddie Izzard
Speak to me in glad tidings
Astronauts, sweet lizards' space gizzards
Jump over the back of book bindings

***** the misconceptions
Drive off the road into gravy
Split the checks, and **** on decks
Mistake my sound perceptions

Habeus Corpus
Parlay with ***
Start with darts
And move to the porpoise

the morning after always hurts the worst
hazy brain
summersault stomach
and where in the hell is my car

i want a pizza
or two

it was nice to see you
i've missed your smile
and condensed stare
and the shape that your lips make while you confess your love to the beer bottle's neck

that explains the jameson
and all the beers at the bar
the beer bongs at the after party
and why i could stomach the strippers

it was all you
so nice to see you

why do i always feel guilty when the sun comes up

no one got a black eye
i didn't grab the mic
and my clothes stayed on until i was safely home
although
the cab driver may have caught a glance

to think
i'm "all grown up"

i'm not at all sorry
not for the whiskey gut
or the fire i'll throw up
or the kisses that i didn't plant along your collar
i'm still the same floral-print ship-wreck at the bottom of the bottle

my mother once said that the only people worth clinging to
are those who see all of your greatness outweighing your flaws

you still see the holes in my tights
and my falling hem line
not the honey sweet legs they shape
or the hips and thighs that the denim hides
i'll be just fine as the german genie in the bottle of irish whiskey

witty
and slack-jawed
and ready to kiss the lips off the face of the clock
and two shots away from dancing with the cops
i look great in hand-cuffs
i'll whistle the whole way to jail

small victories weigh the most
and right now
i feel like muhammed ali

thanks, babe

here's two asprin that glow better than your eyes
and they're mine
waiting to chase away the pain that came up with the sun
here's to endings that aren't a safe bet
here's to sleeping alone
here's to new mistakes
just waiting to happen

*water never tasted so good to me

the age old adage rings loud

1 tequila, 2 tequila, 3 tequila
FLOOR!

I look around and I see some simple *******
some lying in their own filth

when will you learn
it is sip not slam

god forbid you order training wheels
next one with lime and salt
better be eating crisps not drinking

bartender pour me the long glass
let me savor a whiskey back


i've got drinking to do
tequila for me and everyone standing

i plan on looking at my liver in the face tomorrow.

bring me the bottles
because if you didn't know
joe crow and jameson are long lost cousins

and play something loud
lets see if this liquid gold makes them dance.

:D

My room smells of smoke and cologne.
You seem nice,
your eyes are lovely. My inner thighs
are peppered in bruises,
my legs hurt, my cheeks are flushed still.

It’s sweet to look at the milk skin, the ink blots,
remember I’m real. Remember
the feeling of being wanted,
your weight on me, the sweet nothings,
the drunken kissing, the moaning.

I want to hold on to you, but I’m
sure I’d be fine without you.  My ex
had a baby, I wasn’t angry.
I wished him luck; it’s a girl.
A new main lady.

I drank something crazy, I lost my cigarettes,
brought you home and we went to bed.
I wonder could this ever be anything really;
could I ever look into your eyes
and say I love the bones of you?

I’m relieved that you’re not here.
Though I’ve never seen you here before,
I sort of expect you to be,
Because the memory of you follows me wherever I go.
Slipping noiselessly through the door
Into the din of the bar,
With a perpetual cloud of smoke clinging to you,
Highlighting your phantom affect.
I don’t think I could handle it,
Seeing you here.
Visions of you already plague me
Without seeing you
In person,
Sitting before me
Balancing on the back two legs of your chair,
Heavy leather boots crossed at the ankles,
Rocking on your long, lean, jean-clad legs.
I don’t think I could handle it,
Hearing you order your Jameson,
Double,
Neat.
One hand in the pocket of your long black coat that grazes the floor when you sit,
The other wrapped around your glass,
Jameson,
Double,
Neat.
And although the smell suffocates me,
Sometimes I sit out on the smoker’s deck and breathe in the smell of burning tobacco,
And if I’m particularly desperate to feel your presence without succumbing to the need to call,
I order it.
Jameson.
Double.
Neat.
But see,
I can’t actually call you and ask you to come,
Because you will.
And if you ghost through the threshold with your paint-stained hands casually shoved in your pockets,
And give me that gut-wrenching,
Heart-stopping grin,
I’ll die.
Because death is the only way to avoid my incessant need to be near you.
Even now,
Knowing that your insides are just as coal-black as your eyes,
I yearn for the feel of your broad shoulders flexing and rolling beneath my fingertips, my hands running over the expanse of your chest,
Seeking entrance beneath your shirt
As if I can feel the tattoos that lie beneath.
The neck,
The jaw,
The parted lips,
Everything I’ve kissed and caressed a thousand times,
I know I would do the same a thousand more,
If I got the chance.
So thank God that you’re not here.
Because if I caught one glimpse of your irresistible, impossibly soft, dark locks
Falling over your severe, furrowed brow,
Mussed by the wind
And from your fingers running through it over and over,
To the envy of my own,
I would burst at the seams,
God,
It’s a good thing you’re not here.

While reading an article last night about fathers and sons, memories came flooding back to

the time I took me son out for his first pint.

Off we went to our local pub only two blocks from the cottage.

I got him a Guinness.  He didn't like it, so I drank it.

Then I got him a Kilkenny's, he didn't like that either, so I drank it.

Finally, I thought he might like some Harp Lager?   He didn't.   I drank it.

I thought maybe he'd like whiskey better than beer so we tried a Jameson's, nope!

In desperation, I had him try that rare Redbreast,Ireland's finest.   He wouldn't even smell it.

What could I do but drink it!

By the time I realized he just didn't like to drink, I was so feckin ****-faced I could hardly

push his pram back Home.

It's rare you'll find me in my home town
straw in mouth
**** on shoes
i'm a country boy loving this acid washed city life of "Ima get what's mine"
but don't call me bumpkin
while I'm sitting out on a back porch
jameson and RJ Reynolds
I have a tendency to spout off words like an unattended hydrant on a ghetto summer day
not all of them make sense
not all of them are in good taste
or right
but whether it be suburban Midlothian
farming village Drax
or downtown Richmond
I find my home on page
beneath the low chattering of keys
scratching of pens
Each word you never had the heart to say
is my place of residence

the empties
of the week
hold guard over my room.
they stand
like brave sentinels
and we watch the sun rise together.
bottles, cans, flasks, drams
these are my friends,
the empties
of the week.
sunlight burns
off of tinted brown glass
and i am alone,
except these are my friends,
the empties
of the week.

Pabst (7)
Coors (4)
Magic Hat (12)
Sierra Nevada (6)
Heineken (8)

Jack Daniel's (3)
Tanqueray (2)
Jameson (6)
Crown Royal (2)
Wild Turkey (5)

Ole planned
to go

to Las Vegas
but he didn't make it

his untimely death
got in the way

(such are the plans
of mice and men

they say)
he even noted it

on his
Face Book page

mentioned
in passing

as if
a whole clear road

was visible ahead
(now he's dead)

but I can can see him
now in spirit

making his
own way there

taking in
the bright lights

the neon signs
the shows

to be seen
(getting in for free too

what a Mutley laugh
that will bring)

and Ole
in his black hat

and coat and shirt
and dark shades

making his way
at his own

slow pace
around the casinos

his ghostly hand
pulling a few arms

of one armed bandit
machines

while the punters
look on

**** witless
as the arm

goes down
again and again

or in the other games
I can see you

taking your own part
your sense

of gamble and fair play
wandering the tables

ghostly whispering
advice

(in your quiet voice
being nice)

having a cool beer
at the bar

or Jim Beam
or Jameson

if they've got it
you sitting there

the barman unaware
you there

taking in
the whole scene

the big shows
the bright lights

neon signs
wish I

could go there
with you

walk at your side
sharing a beer

or whiskey
a soft conversation

or that special silence
we often shared

when words
weren't needed

where the bond
was strong

go to Vegas my son
go to Las Vegas Ole

take in
the whole scene

of Vegas fun
my departed son.

This room wreaks off stale smoke
As I take a drag off the 1000th one I smoked tonight, I can see the smoke lingering in the air
Just sitting all around me
Some manages to creep it's way outta the window
I glance out the window, the harsh cold wind hits my face
I'm looking down at the people  and the cars **** by
I walk away, why did I pick to live on the 14th floor of this apartment building?
Did I forget I was afraid of heights the day I signed the lease?

I sigh, smash the cigarette into the ashtray
Glance around, it doesn't even look like anyone lives here
Or at least that I live here
But, when she comes to visit, there's always a trial of destruction left behind
Empty whiskey bottles piled in the trash, half drank beers throughout the rooms
Pills scattered across the table, with rolled up 20$ bills and dust everywhere
I wipe my nose as it starts to trickle a little bit
Pull my hand away to find blood across the side of my hand
Then a painful sensation on my face
I race to the bathroom, put tissue on my nose and pinch
And then stare at myself wide eyed
She really did a number on me this time

A very black&blu;; eye stares back at me, with smaller bruises on my other cheek
What the hell happened here?
This wasn't my life anymore... How'd I get back here?
Suddenly I felt I could throw up right then and there
I gag a few times, shaking I grab the sink and splash cold water on my face, then cringe as my eye stings from the cold water
He must be here
She must have invited him
Too ****** up to remember the good life she was finally starting to have
I walk slowly down the hall, step and cry out in pain
Now there's blood on the floor, I close my eyes as I pull the glass from my foot
How in the hell did all this glass make it to my bedroom hallway?
I bend down and it's a combination of broken frames that got knocked off the wall and a smashed bottle of Jameson that must've been thrown at him but he'd shut the door too quick
Why did that ***** come back?
My hands shaking more now, I pick up up what's left of a picture of me and the one who truly cares
The one I've always looked for
Not him, who only she would allow to stay
I cover my mouth to hold back a scream
If I wake him up, I'll be in for a world of hurt
But, when I have to explain to the one in the picture what's happened here....
Well, I'll still be In a world of pain just a different kind
A worse kind, and the kind that's all my fault

I finally peek in my bedroom door and then shut it quickly, and slide to the floor crying
No longer able to hold it in
He lays sprawled across my bed, straws, pills, half a glass of whiskey on the night stand
I grab my hair and finally let out a gut wrenching scream
"Why do you come back here??" I scream violently at her
"My life was finally getting better, but that's always when you come around isn't it? Can't let me be happy! Oh no, that'd be a crime. ****** wouldn't it?!" I'm screaming so loud, my neighbors have probably called the cops
Doesn't matter, I'll be long gone by the time they get up here
And she'll just be laughing
Laughing, laughing because she got me again
And continues to prove I can't escape her
I take a breath and look in the mirror and her face smirks at me, then I see my banged up face again
And I realize... She is me
A dark, cold, destructive, broken hearted girl who lights fire and laughs as she burns
I yank the mirror and throw it clear across the living room
It hits the wall and SMASH!!! Shards of glass fly all around me
"Get out!" I shout "and take your ***** and your drugs with you, this is not my life anymore, I told you I was done!"
The wind blows in from the window and I swear it whispered "You're the one who called me."
"No, no it isn't true!" I'm coming undone at the seams now
I pick up the pills and throw them out the window, I rip the rolled up $20 bill in tiny shreds
I add these half drank beers layin around to the collection of whiskey bottles in the trash
I'm close to just taking a match to the apartment and going down in flames with it, everything's ruined anyway....

"Why the **** are you screaming and making so much ******* noise?!" He yelled while standing in the hall, making sure he avoided the glass from the bottle meant for his face last night
I'm frozen, my eyes locked on him can't let him make a single move and not be ready
"What the **** are you doing here? Don't you know SHE called you, not me?!" I glare at him wishing on everything he'd just vanish like the smoke had out the window
He smirks and shakes his head, mumbling what a crazy ***** I am
"No one but YOU called me!" His violent tone makes me flashback to the night before, when I pleaded for him to stop

This isn't gonna work
There's no coming back from this
Not this time, I've ******* up to the point of no return
Those cold eyes staring at me I never in my life wanted to see again
She would be the only one stupid enough to ever go back to him
To this wasteland she calls a life
The one from the shattered frame is just that
A shattered dream... And she took it from me
Well that's the last thing she takes
I'm winning the last round
He's been yelling at me now for at least 10 mins, I haven't heard a word but I sputter "I don't care"
Enraged he makes his way toward me
Eyes wide with fear but, realizing I only have one choice
I spin around, push the sliding glass door open and climb on the ledge of my balcony staring down so so far below me, the wind whipping my hair all around my face
I hear him call "what are you doing... Don't do..,"
But before he can finish his sentence, I close my eyes and jump

I scream so loud it wakes me from my sleep
I'm covered in sweat
My dog just stares at me, too frightened to move
There's a picture of me and the one who truly cares on my nightstand
Not a single crack
No pills, straws, whiskey bottles or broken glass
She's not here
It's just me in the dark, with a slight chilly breeze comin in through a cracked window
I lay back down and hold the covers tight
Shivering but I'm not cold
Fear just runs wild, and burning in my veins
She's not here, he's not here and there's no trail of destruction
In the window I see my reflection
No black&blu;; eye or face, no blood trickles from my nose
I light a cigarette and smile at the smell of stale cigarettes in the ashtray
It's never smelled so beautiful and I have never felt more free of her than I do at this moment
Cause in that moment I realize I am me
I used to know her, but she's from the past and she doesn't know where I live anymore
I smash my cigarette into the ashtray and smile as some of it creeps out my window

There's a bluebird in my heart
too,

but unlike
yours

I like to let mine out
from time to time,

I let him spread his wings
I let him sing

his songs to me
& to the world,

My bartenders like him,
he's how I've gotten most
of the ****** into my bed

and he doesn't mind the smoke,
everyone needs a drag
from time to time,

He's the one
who prefers Jameson
and told my tongue
to not drink
much else,

I don't hide him,

But I'm not mad
that you hid yours away

I'm glad you did
because as much as you
inspire me and make me
want to share my songs

with the world,

I'm glad I'm not as angry
as you made yourself out
to be,

I get it, the image
is everything about
what seperates the men
from the boys,

and at this point I think
I'm all grown up
and we're stuck together
with the same fate,

So I let my bluebird sing
Bukowski,
because more than anything

your songs taught me

how to ****
what the world thinks.

And thank you for lying
to me

You old, drunk *******,

Because you let your bluebird
fly, you know it

and may the gods bless you
for not even trying.

I love you
*******.

Just one question,
Are you crying now?