Drunk in a tapas bar

Spanish guitar played soft
And I thought of all those without
Them that cry in the streets
As to cry with no abandon
And darkened the underpasses
Of shrieking howling pain
And how fortunate it was
To be indoors
A friend watching out for me
Drunk on my own success
A fool blessed with a dream lover
A fool with a lie on his face
A smile
A quick grin
A lucky fool
With no direction


Protected: With no direction

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Listening to manager cronies
Chat it up on their coffee break
Talk of snapping
And no not the good kind
Just losing it and cracking your frayed wits
On the side of some poor underpayed gadge

Does me no good to hear this talk
This assumption of authority
By those with none

When I get my jacket on

When I get my jacket on
I’ll get out the door
Walk across the ceiling
And see what it’s for

I need an editor
Every time I open my mouth
I try to talk
A sonnet comes out instead

I’m hungry but I’m naked
The radio on
Playing the velvet underground
I can’t leave my bed

Girl I need to get with you
My life is in a rut


Interiors of Los Angeles
The sky darkened
Not quite black lit
But rose quiet and trembling
I believe in the heart of Los Angeles
That used to be where yuppies loved

Now the gas station counter
Now the bullet proof glass
And beneath the pane
A drawer for currency exchange
No way to shake hands with your clerk
She won’t let you get close to you
Through her
Inside she’s got cigarettes, condoms and Pringles
All stacked to eternity
Like a velvet dream
Of endless marketing

Now the dark sky shimmers
An Ocean there
A clear view
Of crystal thoughts
Smooth vocals

Over soft
Almost inaudible-
Heavy metal distortion

Falling In love with Los Angeles
But really just falling for you

Old friend

I don’t blame you
The wars you fight
I’m just like you man
We made it on the streets
You had mean streak
So I was running wild
But when I met you
That look in your eyes
Looked like you were ready
But your hands hung limp and dead
Jangling cold by your sides

The end and death rang cold and shouted out
I don’t blame you at all
With fire

Working the Tuesdays

Barge into the meeting like you own this place
Scream and in the corner ill do methadone
Or smoke a last coverage
And laugh at you behind a blunt

You drive me batty don’t you know?

You worker types-
You owners

You equally- equally
Capitalist scum

At least I only infiltrate to get by
At any moment ill burn my message in the sky-

But you
You think your going somewhere-
Don’t you?

Dog photos

Sweet fucking dog picture
Send me another one
Please I can’t get enough
I’m not even blind
I just enjoy seeing him
Fucking sleeping
Well loved
And well fed
Well Indeed
As good as any deed
And fine as one for a dog to receive
But I’d much rather see you smiling.