Scraggly I Call Him

February 20, 2012

Scraggly I call him. Or her. Not sure. Doesn’t matter. Sex is irrelevant. He annoys me and adores me. I like him and talk to him. He has long messed up hair and looks well fed and clean despite his messy hair. He approaches me every day in the alley. I’m never sure if he wants something besides attention. Kind of like me. I don’t want to touch him because I don’t know where he’s been. He usually keeps his distance but tonight he went way over the edge.

 

I was on the back porch smoking with a cup of decaf coffee and trying to read when I hear that voice. I made the mistake of talking to him. The next thing you know he’s on the back steps next to me trying to get me to touch him. He even tried to drink my coffee and it seemed he wanted to read my book if he even knows how to read. Ignoring him didn’t work so I caved in and touched him. Of course he wanted more. I gave a little more attention and talked to him.

 

I finished my cigarette and grabbed my book and cup and said goodbye.

 

It mad me realize that I’m having enough problems sharing a house with someone. If I’m not ready for a casual relationship with a neighborhood cat then I’m not ready to have a cat or a pet. If I’m not ready to have a relationship with a cat then a human is out of the question.


Suck My Fuck

February 6, 2012

Suck my fuck

I’m out of luck

The Sandman took

My very last buck

 

I want to live

I want to give

I want to love

I want to forgive

 

From God I’m forsaken

I feel he has taken

Unless I’m mistaken

I cannot awaken

 

I’m sick in the head

Stuck in this bed

Moving I dread

I feel so dead

 

All I want is love

Without a kid glove

Yet pure as a dove

I’ve been so void of

 

Cursed

Blessed

Thirst

The rest

 

Fuck a suck

Eat a duck

Mind is muck

No more Luck


Polaroid Snapshot Memory

January 30, 2012

Polaroid snapshot memory caresses me from the inside out. Transcending candles light my way to the past and the joy and freedom I was unaware of at the time. Bizarre incantations of what life is and could be. Pass by and die. Pass by and let the fate of the Deities decide or roll the dice or not.

 

Freedom’s just another word for everything ahead. Wasted youth having a great time. Love. Sex, drugs and rock n roll baby. I lived it and didn’t know I was living. Love was everywhere. Free love was dead but I re-animated it. Acid trips and connections to worlds I wish I could have stayed in. Money was nothing to me and I thought it was everything. Carry the plight of darkness on my shoulder with a wicked smile.

 

Aging. Losing. Gaining. Winning. At the same time in my mind. I created it and I had no control of the inevitable events that lead me to me and back around the block. A haircut and a shave and a shower cures the common ME. Cut snip CUT. Parties over and starts again. Imobile as I travel and dream of travel and you.

 

Bulbous characters running in and out of my entire life. I call it life today. Tomorrow? Fuck tomorrow. I’ve always hated tomorrow. Diseased decaying tomorrow. Yesterday is where it’s at. Live today like it was yesterday and I feel fine. Crimes committed without my knowledge and I weep for you. For me.

 

Granite accelerator in the fastest carpool lane of a Lynchian progression. Up down. Freeze.

 

Tag.

 

You’re fucking IT.


Uglytown -A Poem

January 20, 2012

 

Ugly people making

An Ugly neighborhood

Uglytown

Someone tapped y head walking the neighborhood

He made an uglier face than

He already had and ran ahead of me.

I was scared for my life, wife and money

 

We were together

My new wife and

My Best friend

Shopping on the border of

My ugly town

Uglytown

With ugly people

 

I spot Marie

Walking with a younger

Handsome me

She waves to me

From outside the store

 

I tell my girl who knows her

And we go outside while

Marie is inside another store

On the border of

Ugly town

Uglytown

 

We meet up with Marie who is with 2 older

Heavy men, one older I find out

One younger version of the older

Looking inbred and dirty

Assuming one of them is Marie’s boyfriend

 

We made a wrong turn and almost ended up

In ugly town, my town, my home.

Uglytown

 

We were at a restaurant of some sort in a mall

A mall with a view of an ugly town, my ugly town

Uglytown and

It’s ugly people

It was me, myself, my girlfriend with no name,

My best friend with no name, Marie, the guy

I thought was her new boyfriend and

 

What or who looked like her boyfriend’s father

It occurred to me that the older guy whose scraggly hair and beard kept growing and getting grayer might be her boyfriend

 

The film crew was set up and a new arrival besides the crew said

“Action”

The show officially started as we suddenly found things to talk about as if I knew my lines for a film or TV show I had no idea I was part of. I looked at my girlfriend and she stayed in character

Asking what the inbred dirty redneck friends of Marie do for a living.

 

I knew my friend and girlfriend were waiting for an answer hoping

The answer was something I could do and get me in a real job

The younger guy who was touching Marie said

They started a business installing lights or something similar.

I was going to ask him more and out table got distracted

By a fight breaking our down below in the food court

 

Children fighting children

Ugly children fighting

Pretty children and

In between children fighting

Pretty children fighting ugly children

In an ugly town, my Uglytown

Uglytown

The war has begun

I woke up

 

I went outside and lit a cigarette

I heard gunshots

I saw police lights in the distance of the ugly town

My ugly town

My ugly home

Uglytown

 

I heard the voice on a megaphone

Telling someone to drop the gun

I finished my cigarette

Business as usual on a Thursday night

Back to my

Safe little room

Escaped in a book

 

Oh ugly town, oh Uglytown

I’ll miss you one day

Uglytown

 


A POEM: Rose Colored Goggles (for Joe B)

January 12, 2012

 

Rose Colored Goggles (for Joe B)

 

Speaks slowly as if expectations are for you to savor every word

When he’s not too busy exercising his inherent talent for listening

To the ranting, venting and complaining of others.

 

The secret mystic patiently awaits his turn to react and advise Wisely his positive spin on whatever it is

I am self absorbedly going on on on and on and on about persistently like an ADD child demanding attention

 

Intuition and listening are his gifts yet unrecognized because of his

ASSociations with the mentally challenged or selfish, self absorbed people in his life.

He has answers but has learned through the years to wait to share them

We are not always ready for the answers

 

As you get to know and love him you realize he is human too

Moody, judgmental and self righteous like the rest of the world

Showing this side to only the closest of allies

We and or I accept this for all he has endoured with our friendship

Through years upon years

 

Relationship dynamics change as with all intelligent free thinkers and sometimes we grow apart and then grow back together stronger

A selfless man in actions sets the example I strive for.

Well grounded yet spiritual, mystical, creative and verbally expressive.

 

I call this man

I repeat man

As my best friend

And a major contributor to society and God’s world.


Row Home Prison

January 10, 2012

I had a dream

Not like Martin Luther King Jr

Probably not

A nightmare

Did Dr King have nightmares?

I do

Not often that I recall

 

Incisive nightmares

I am a prisoner for a crime I never committed

Imprisoned in jails, institutions, and basements

I was a prisoner in a house

The house in Camden I grew up in

Didn’t grow up but lived there

Only access to the house next door where my cat, Betty

Was held prisoner also

 

I knew I would get out

I was innocent yet I felt guilty

Depressed and optimistic

My adopted mother was a prison guard of sorts

Not listening to me

Judging me

She always thought I was guilty

When other mothers said “not my son or daughter”

My mother would say “It was probably my son”

 

I was afraid and confident amongst fellow inmates

I knew from elementary school

From high school

From college

From the internet

And you were in the next cell

Laughing madly

 

I snuck next door in my Camden row home prison to

Visit Betty

She was happy to see me but afraid of getting caught

She gave me a kiss and hid under a bush

I was happy she was alive

My only love in this world had returned

I snuck into the house to find my valuables hidden in the basement

In a crawlspace

Rotted books, records, art and clothes

I held up a t-shirt covered in rusted buttons

For some reason I felt that I was being held against my will

As a result of my books, records, art and t-shirts

Contraband in some minds that lack freethinking

 

I woke up in the prison of my cozy bed

Sweating

Relieved

Until I looked out the window and the view

To the outside was the same

 

NOTE: HOURS OF VISITATION ARE FROM 12 PM TO 8PM WEEKDAYS AND 8 AM TO 10 PM ON WEEKENDS

 

Please drop by and bring cigarettes to trade for food


White Boy Day: A Poem

January 9, 2012

 

White boy trapped                      on a bus     on the first floor of

Social Services

On the second floor of                 Social Services

In the basement of

Social Services.          Too many people

 

Too much NOISE. NOISE. NOISE.

 

Black people hollering,

Hallowing in their phones and

At each other across

The over crowded diseased waiting room

Puerto Ricans speaking in tongues

So fast and loud it hurts         while the Mexicans Remain still watching their children

Jump from chair to chair to chair

Eloquently                              Annoyingly

 

Too much NOISE. NOISE. NOISE.

 

White people scream at their children

Children cry. Cry. Cry baby. Cry babies everywhere.

Every floor. Every waiting room.

On the first floor of                                         Social Services

On the second floor of

Social Services.

In the basement of               Social Services.

 

I try to hide in my books                  Hide in my head

I want to scream until I get relief

Relief when my name is called.

When I leave I walk speedily to the bus stop to face mre people waiting to

Overcrowd the bus and I get claustrophobic.

On the bus. My goal is to get off as soon as I can.

White boy trapped no longer.

Jumps off the bus several stops early and

I walk home almost in peace.

No muggers.

Just beggars.

“Gimme a cigarette?”

“Do you gots a quarter?”

I open the door to my home and feel relief and brief

FREEDOM.

I realize I am still a white boy trapped in

My own home

As the sun goes down.

At least there’s not much noise here.

 


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