Moonshine drinking
Pork rind eatin
Deer hunting
women chasing
tabacco chewing
Bass fishing
Rebel flag wavin
Pick up truck driving
Redneck!!

"There are no diseases crueler
than the ones we self-inflict"
but I still find myself
thirsting for the bottle
and you still find the beast in your heart
begging to be smothered in smoke

They sneak out to smoke their cigs
between classes
just another insolence, another act of audacity
another fleck of rebellion
a way to express their contempt
a way to say ********
to the government and the educational system
and to the clockwork holding them back
from a death they secretly long for
Because i think at least a few of them know
that it’s still a suicide
even if it’s in slow motion
And every cigarette
is a calming coffin nail

Legally, they are too young
to drink or purchase
their ambrosia and tabacco treasures
Yes they are young, minors
but they’re already afraid of growing too old to die young
soon they'll get withered and wrinkling
and they won't be able to leave a beautiful corpse

Pulling off clear, crinkling cellophane, shiny silver foil
with nimble fingers and
sliding a single cigarette
out of the pack
and slipping it into their lips
It fits so effortlessly, so easy
they've been repeating the same motion for years now
sparking the lighter,
The small flame erupts
promising relief.
The sweet taste of nicotine trickling
down into the back of their throats.
They smile.

Behind stone gargoyle smiles
thunder eyes and rock fists
they hide their heavy hearts
with shrouds of smoke
like small-featured bride faces
behind heavy veils
Holding their precious gaspers
between 2 fingers,
elegantly, the way they saw
james bond and models in glossy magazines do it
There are no children here,
just the lost and the lonely,
the ones who wear such solid masks
They’re all looking for some form of redemption,
but they'll settle for attention
Faith, on the other hand,
is a language they don't speak

Their love for each other
is not sweet and childish
it's a collision of souls,
a necessary train wreck
a desperate tempest
to survive the deadly drone of school
it can't be done alone
regroup, collect, stick together,
collide

Their arguments and apologies
have the tragic tone of ancient rome
empires rising and falling

I hear them bicker
and argue and talk
with echoes of prayers in their voices
please see me, please hear me
please validate my existence

Debating
American Spirit, Malboro, Camel
the intricacies of the taste
they taught themselves to love

To me every joke sounds like a hymn
every nervous pair of hands
the brittle after-math
of broken promises
chaotic thoughts tumbling like dust in the wind

I know they are different
but they are human and young
and perhaps they are like me
Maybe they too
have fears
maybe they too awaken in the dead of night
sweating and confused

I can see them now, drifting in and out of focus
dragging their reluctant shadows
into school and out
Frail bodies running on caffeine and nicotine
pain, boredom, indifference and panic

You can tell they long for solace
in the way they hold their coffee
tenderly, fingers wrapped round
the comforting shape and smell
and kissing their cancer sticks
with faint hopes of necromancy
and rebirth with every puff

***
they take turns objectifying each other,
feigning tenderness when really
they are just new bodies
interlaced for an hour or two
There is no emotion here
they're just kids who've always loved playing
the ***** Doctor game

Mothers
use their name as a cautionary
tale and
they're the kids
our parents warned us about.

I know they've given up on perfection
so they want to be some kind of dazzling cataclysm
a bright, flaming disaster, a lovely wreck
they offer me a drag
but all I can think
is that rebellion isn’t a language
I know how to speak
All I can do is write this poem
which is both a eulogy
and an obituary



                                                     ­           I love them.
I love them because I know each of them is a work in progress,
because I know each is shattered in a sense
because they're just souls searching for a voice.
I love them because I'm starting to see
beyond the archetype-- a true expansiveness.
And I love them because the smell of cigarette smoke
reminds me of afternoons in France,
sitting on the curb of my dying grandfather's home
and watching the passer-by stroll through
the pavements.

I love them because everyone needs a place,
and they know that.

Their parties are an emergency exit.

They're a lighthouse for the lost.

There to language and I are leave they out can no a don't
of do diseases beautiful speak

Their focus
dragging is crueler corpse

Pulling love their write
than off for reluctant this the clear each shadows
into poem
which ones crinkling other
is school is we cellophane not and both self-inflict shiny sweet out
Frail a
but silver and bodies eulogy
and I foil
with childish
it's running an still nimble a on obituary

find fingers collision caffeine ­ myself
thirsting and
sliding of and I for a souls nicotine
pain love the single
a boredom them bottle
and cigarette
out necessary indifference
you of train and ­ still the wreck
a panic

You I find pack
and desperate can love the slipping tempest
to tell them beast it survive they because in into the long
I your their deadly for know heart
begging lips
It drone solace
in each to fits of the of be so school
it way them smothered effortlessly can't they is in so be hold a smoke

They easy
they've done their work sneak been alone
regroup coffee
tenderly in out repeating collect fingers progress to the stick wrapped
smoke same together round
the ­ their motion
collide

Their comforting because cigs
between for arguments shape I classes
just years and and know another now
sparking apologies
have smell
and each insolence the kissing is another lighter tragic
their shattered act
The tone cancer in of small of sticks
with a audacity
another flame ancient faint sense
fleck erupts
promising rome
empires hopes ­ of relief rising of because rebellion
The and necromancy
and they're way sweet falling

I rebirth just to taste hear with souls express of them every
searching their nicotine bicker
and puff
***
they for contempt
a trickling argue take a way
down and turns voice to into talk
with objectifying
say the echoes each ­ **** back of other I you
to of prayers
feigning love the their in tenderness them
government throats their when because and
They voices
please really
they I'm the smile see are starting educational

Behind me just to system
and stone please new see
to gargoyle hear bodies
interlaced ­ the smiles
thunder me
please for beyond clockwork eyes validate
an the holding and my hour archetype-- them rock existence

Debating
American or a back
from fists
they Spirit two
There true a hide Malboro is
expansiveness death their Camel
the no
they heavy intricacies emotion ­ secretly hearts
with of here
they're long shrouds the just I for
Because of taste
they kids love i smoke
like taught who've them think
small-featured themselves always because at bride to loved the least faces
behind love

To playing smell a heavy me
the of few veils
Holding every ***** cigarette of their joke Doctor smoke
them precious sounds game

Mothers
use ­ know
that gaspers
between like their reminds it’s 2 a name me still fingers hymn
every as of a
elegantly nervous a afternoons suicide the pair cautionary
tale in
even way of and
they're France if they hands
the the
it’s saw
james brittle kids
our ­ in bond after-math
of parents sitting slow and broken warned on motion
And models promises
chaotic us the every in thoughts about curb cigarette
is glossy tumbling

I of a magazines like know my calming do
dust they've dying coffin it
There in given grandfather's nail
I on ­ are children know perfection
so and too here they they watching young
to

just are want the drink the different
but to passer-by or lost they be stroll purchase
their and are some through
ambrosia the human kind ­ and lonely and of the tabacco
the young
and dazzling pavements treasures
Yes ones perhaps cataclysm

I they who they bright love are wear are flaming them young such like disaster because minors
but solid me
Maybe a everyone they’re masks
They’re they lovely needs already all too
have wreck
they a afraid looking fears
maybe offer place of for they me
and growing some too a they too form awaken drag
but know old of in all that to redemption the I

Their die
but dead can parties young
soon they'll of think
is are they'll settle night
sweating that an get for and rebellion
emergency withered attention
Faith confused

I isn’t exit

They're and on can a a wrinkling
and the see language
I lighthouse they other them know for won't hand now how the be
is drifting to lost
able a in speak
All

im switchin back n forth from the past to present like time is stretching and my mind is elastic
im trapped inside a casket siftin through my brothers, mothers and cousins ashes
they keep metal chains wrapped around my ankles and wrists like i am natural born savage,
padded room and straight jacket, psychosis like you cant imagine,
icicles dripping off the ticking of the clock, tears dripping down the wall like molasses,
swervin in my kayak cuz im addicted to liquor and tabacco,
crystal **** crack and smack from the invasion
forcing Russian Orthodox as my baptism,
certificate of indian blood 25 percent Aleutiq,
but im down with any Eyak, Yupiq, Tlingkit, Haidan, or Athabaskan,
i speak english cuz they stole the native tongue from my Grandma and my Grandpa,
trying to paint a picture of the mask that ive been wearing as i stare at my reflection,
all i see is that i am just another average cold blooded alaskan

Dark Posters of Skeleton Brides
Video Game pings, and Overflowing Drinks
As Unusual People lay on Hand Me Down Couches
with Tobacco strewn all over my Mom's Old Coffee Table

Barely Voices , No Conversation. Just
BOOM, BOOM BOOM! before I sing aloud
Screams of Joy, "Traplawd Rules"
Kisses on my Nose, Giggling a Little too Loud

Laughter Proceeds Coughing, Funny girly high kicks
"*****, Get Drunk" They tell me, Ah the friends I have
Ragged Carpets over Soft Broken Love Seats
Rough Tobacco stuffed Into Cigarette Tubes

as He Softly Kisses my Arm
**** stubble, tattooed skin
***** Stings, Tabacco burns
Leaving even Baked Goods with a Smokey Flavor

I've come to realize that your not from this town
You are some long place away
The trash that I live in

I walk the streets
or drive my car
I know all the drug dealers
And all of them know me.

All the hippie guys
who are stuck on some concept
smoke ****
eat shrooms
become god
kinda concept

All the rednecks
Trucks and Jeans
tabacco spit

This trash town
that I love so much
the gas stations
at midnight
we are lost as can be

but what does it matter
when you aren't here
you're in some far town
across years of rain soaked highways
bright headlights
miles

You were not a breath of fresh air
you were the choking
of sadness infused
smoking
in every room
tabacco stained fingers
left marks on every table top
and top to bottom the house was so
dust filled
that you had killed
all ******* signs of life
the room was rife
with scents of her and no sense
of morality
you just turned to see
but choked every good growing gracious thing out of me
you don’t hear any noise anymore
lost my voice
somewhere on the floor with her
underwear and
everywhere there’s
another girl’s hair
strands and hair bands
and when I close my eyes it’s her hands
touching your shoulder blades
and the concaves
of your collar bones and
clean clothes
and it’s so clear that when I’m here
she gloats because her hands
have become your hands
and now they’re wrapped around my throat
And so when she chokes
You choke
And I-

Rolling words, like ***** tires
asphalt slabs, wasted hours,
Nights alone, feels like home,
you were never very good to me.

Broken plastic, phony dreams
pipe tabacco, cracking seams,
slower step, promise kept,
you were always my summertime.

Sparks have faded, ashes cold
gates left open, secrets told
too late to talk, let's just walk
things are easier once I get high.

Wait for winter, wait for rain
or fall forever, ease the pain
too many ropes, it's all a joke
you broke my ******* heart though.

Pull together, shrug the want
friends don't know, friends still taunt
you will break me, you won't save me
No one knows how many times I've tried to die.

But it gets better, so they say,
when he held my hand things felt okay
people leave, hearts greave
I've never been so good with changes

Skys are bluer, my heart is sad
you're doing good, and I am glad
but it hurts to know, you're glad to go
*Like you forgot we promised forever

Life lessons are stockpiled in my pantry,
I think of them as I look out of my front window.
The sweet smell of tabacco lifts from my pipe,
reminding me of times of naivety.

Laughter, my only defense from most of the deeds I committed.
It comforts me to know that even in my youth,
I knew I would laugh at myself for things I've done
Oh to be blinded by young love.

The strip of grey in my beard excites me,
They say with age comes wisdom,
I would venture to say not all of the old are wise.
For with life comes wisdom, and too many watched it pass.

To be loved right,
I am most thankful for this,
In youth we tried so hard to love,
Neither of us knowing how, these things dont just come to you.
Pain always came of our scholastic journey.

I look forward to what lies ahead,
I have at least lived enough to know,
I never knew,
To accept that, was my greatest accomplishment.

1.  You smelt like cheap aftershave and you smoked a packet a day. I didn't want to hold your hand but you made me. I washed my sheets 3 times after you left but I still couldn't get your stench out of my room.

2. You're probably still my favourite. Our hands fitted perfectly together but you made absolutely no effort to visit and I couldn't deal with that.

3. You were too clingy and at first it was okay but you quickly became a leech and you ****** all of the goodness out of me.

4. Thank you for helping me realise there's more to life than love. You were the greatest thing I never had.

5. You tasted like stale tabacco and when we kissed it wasn't real enough. You were quick to touch my skin but your fingers lingered over my heart.

6. Im sorry for leaving you when you needed me the most. But you had no substance, you were meaningless and I couldn't provide you with a reason to exist.

7. Your touch was like a shot of ******. I instantly wanted more. I craved you when you weren't near.

8. I hated your tattoo. It was cheap and nasty and didn't represent you very well. You were weak and you drunk gin like it was water and your mother made the best apple pie I ever tasted.

9. I would of married you. But you were too competitive. I didn't want to spend my entire life chasing you around the house because you were scared to sit still incase you put on more weight than me.

10. You were like the snow. Ice cold, but sometimes you melted and you were a complete ******* mess.

for a barrel
of *** and some
tabacco leafs
and the
Christain Bible
the Caucasians
have taken
the light
from
the People of
Color
Now
a
dead race
called
The *****

After you I guess I'll end it...
Breath by breath
A slow, yet certain end,..
Slow suicide
I'll use tabacco...

under this grey suburban sky
thunders rolling as rocks and drums
then silence in concrete transit spaces
although wild beats inside our veins
hunting scenes and escapes in vain

taste of honey and salt on your teeth
prey predators and carnival masks
smiles dreams feasts fire tears
running water
silence and lightning
remote storms
gentle breeze

essences and perfumes
tobacco leather cinnamon and ashes
smells of life
and skin

it's time to go home
home where we will recall
every flavor
every hug
every drop of dew
every smile and every single tear
their true meaning
and we will ask ourselves
why?
why have we ever parted from our heart?
................

sotto questo grigio cielo suburbano
tuoni che rotolano come pietre e tamburi
poi silenzio in spazi di transito di asfalto e cemento
anche se il selvatico batte nelle nostre vene
scene di caccia e fughe invano

sapore di miele e sale sui denti
prede predatori e maschere di carnevale
sorrisi sogni feste lacrime
acqua corrente
silenzio e fulmini
tempeste remote
e brezza leggera

essenze e profumi
tabacco cuoio cannella e cenere
odori di vita
e di pelle

è ora di tornare a casa
casa dove ricorderemo
ogni sapore
ogni abbraccio
ogni goccia di rugiada
ogni sorriso e ogni singola lacrima
il loro vero significato
e ci chiederemo
perché?
perché mai ci siamo separati dal nostro cuore?

As I am inspecting the tomatoes for bruises and scrapes, you walk by.
Your stance is as ***** as the collar of your dark blue dress shirt.
Your pace tells me that you have no time to waste on inspecting for bruises, or scrapes.
Perhaps your wife is expecting you home, or perhaps someone else?

As the essence of "Tabacco Oud" dissipates, I bite my bottom lip hard. I imagine yours taste of gin or brandy. A level of richness and depth I could only fathom to taste.

cigarette smoke lingers in the air
take a breath,
you wouldn't dare
the ash dance like snowflakes on a cold winter night
the stench lingers,
like mistakes from the past
tabacco's awful isn't it?
but to me, it smells like home

days-old coffee left on bedside tables
take a sip,
it wouldn't hurt you
it is sweet but leaves a bitter aftertaste
like the moments we treasure,
but often fail to remember
i've never liked coffee
but to me, it tastes like home

medicinal pills that taste like ***
take a pop,
then 50 more
with every pill swallowed,
our days grow fewer
and when you went away,
the pills grew in number
i never liked this part of the story
but even for a while, it was still home

morning light entered
you took your leave at dawn
i'm sorry i couldn't see you earlier
but the cigarette smoke still lingers in the air
the cold coffee still sits on your bedside table
the pills still come in the mail, left uneaten
but it doesn't feel like home

from his childhood dreams
out sitting on his swing
from his mommas tender means
he shed them in his youth while letting loose
as the king would grow he had moments to show
going off in the army being late for curfew
parting is such sweet sorrow my friend
married Lisa Marie in pleasant history
a blend of make believe as he put together Graceland
let the reader understand he had an infinite plan
yet deep inside he hid his feelings until he broke in two
having bitten off far more then he could ever chew
made movies with Ann Margaret was on target
the flings of Jail House rock he was on top
but to his surprise he was in a mix of lies
Elvis had tears throughout the years
at his mommas funeral he couldn't compose himself
then many years had passed having every reason to grasp
the tender message of his voice with a precious choice
Nixon gave him a medal of bearing arms & tabacco
through all his endeavors let us deeply remember
his whispering voice with a choice
1977 was the last time we saw him
he shed a tear to numb his pain
his deep emotions were driving him insane
yet for Elvis sake he soared through the flames
to the king rest nice sweet Mr. Presley we shall see you one day in heaven

The bowl of a glass ashtray
On the nightstand
Is brimming with cigarette butts.
The bedroom smells of burnt
Tabacco.

This is what wasted
Time looks like, unkempt,
Disheveled.

Grey songs of a caged bird:
Ashes and cigarette butts