Monthly Archives: February 2015

Rotaries

ambling further
rambling around rotaries
with ample of time
the gas light unlit
so we run on sound
dancing your way out the door
you’re lying on the floor
now our antennas are all crossed
like God shut the heavens up
was it His or your loss?
to love the earth or to punish
you earmarked that book
that you always forsook
choose my words carefully
or a mouth’s be full of cavities
we hastily plod away at history
and find the least bit of amity
I haven’t got the answers
or a road map for life trials
we just beguiled the miles
and epistoling to no one
hoping to not be shunned
got another car battery
to start up, to run

go

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Snow Covered

When the world is covered in powdered snow
the streets are quiet
save the whisper of wind
and one can shout like a mad man with sheer joy
the calming effect of a silent padded cell

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Jesse Pinkman

You won’t think much of me

Code name: Cap’n Cook

Meth user

Manufacturer

And dealer

Of Chili P meth

Now partner of Heisenberg

Crass,

Low-life,

wanksta,

nobody

Drug addict

Insomniac

Born September 14, 1984

an upper middle-class family

Albuquerque

“Apply yourself” on the header of a flunked paper

From Mr. White my chemistry teacher

Dropped out of Wynne High School

failing to adhere to the rules

Lectures and classes were a snooze fest

Failed almost every test

Thrown out by my parents

From the litanies of lies

Rooted from my drug use and abuse

Outclassed and outshined

By Jake my younger bro

A shelf full of academic accolades

You wouldn’t know that I

Have a raving imagination

An artistic bent

A buried penchant

For eccentric superhero drawing

And a knack for woodworking

I once poured passion

into building a box

of Peruvian walnut wood

with inlaid zebra-wood

Fitted with pegs, no screws

Sanded it “smooth as glass”

But traded it for an ounce of weed

You wouldn’t know that

After being kicked out from my home

I moved in with my sick Aunt Ginny

And took care of her until she died from lung cancer

But I was kicked out of that home as well by my parents

So I took on the itinerant life-style of couch surfing

Moving from place to place

Sometimes staying the night in a cold RV

My only “family” was the guys from my high school garage band

Found that cooking meth was the only way of “getting by”

Because that was the only thing he was really “good at”

You wouldn’t know that

After overdosing heroine with my girlfriend in my bedroom

She began asphyxiating on her own vomit

And died while I slept

You wouldn’t know that Walter White my own high school teacher

Got me back into meth cooking

Made me murder

Made me steal

Witnessed multiple murders

Becoming enslaved to the cycle

So am I the villain?

Or the victim?

Or am I just Jesse Pinkman

A homeless fool

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John Doe

he was a man
of no particular significance
nor weight at the tip of his tongue in his words
he carried himself neither with his head held high
nor with his eyes examining the gum on the sidewalk
nor was he the man to take the stairs in several bounds
he would pause before words materialized in reality
because he knew they would scar and make people bleed
doubt twisted, a crown of thorns around his brow
chiseled three fine lines
and yet he was prone to extended periods of draughts
and certain bouts of entrenched doubts
he found it sometimes difficult to suffocate the writhing weariness
as he saw time elope and press on with the future
make love, make babies
while he was running away from animals
hoping he wouldn’t get rabies
he was drawn to another future
of robots, cyborgs, and lasers
and a brief eye-level love exchange
he was befuddled by the world he saw
of the dreary filmed days
of punctuated sunshine
of days of vapidity
of days of polarity
of days of clarity

he was a man
a boy
a son
he was me

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