Hang me, oh hang me 

I found peace on an old rocking chair 

Swaying back and forth 

Directing the zacada chorus

A loving wind teaches the grass to dance to an old lullaby

The rotten wood beneath my bare feet is warm with the suns embrace 

In this serenity 

I think of the cold starving nights

Each moment a war for air

There is no road to this promised land 

I had to wander through the bush and thorns 

To be sanctified 

To be cleansed 

Now I am protected by this rusty tin roof 

And the watchful eyes of the oak and pine 

Advertisements

I hate sand 

The sea seems tired today

The waves roll back with the tide in a lazy hum 

It lacks the chaos and ferocity I’ve seen in years past 

The water wreaking havoc on anyone foolish to invade it’s psychotic serenity 

I’m sure it’s seen enough over the years

Enough grey skies

Enough sinking ships

Probably lost count of the lost that found an eternal home within its bowels 

The clouds roll toward the shore and the seagulls race for sanctuary 

I found nothing in the sand but more sand 

Until we meet again

I hope your vigor is restored 

Don’t lose your spirit 

Don’t give it away to the land locked charoltens and bay side bastards 

Your life is mine and I hope to see our life restored to its former glory. 

fish out of water

Have you heard the phrase fish out of water?

Have you seen a fish out of water? 

It is tragic. 

It flails

And gasps 

You can see deaths reflection in the eyes of the fish 

at a certain point 

The fish gives up 

And just lies there 

Until the stillness embraces the fish 

Humans will withdraw life like money from a bank and sign the dotted line with a evil grin. 

Only our god could be so fucked in the head to come up with us. 

I’m only moments away from signing my own dotted line and cashing this fucking check. 

My last sermon to the deaf 

I promise you 

There is no promise land 

So we must

Carry on 

My brothers and sisters

Through This perpetually eternal exodus

The dammed and demented left alone to fight for scraps and hug for love taps 

My congregation 

Grab your q tips and comence the holy cleaning 

Repremand the hypnotized and withdraw from the matrix before you yourself are euthanized 

The street preachers warned us while the prostitutes with bones boned us 

Shut your mouth before the moral vanguard breaks down the door and scoops you up like mary poppins 

Scrape the road kill from the street only to watch it’s racoon brother jump in front of the same car.

hope 

Can be made 

Like purpose is written on paper by the sword 

Don’t get lost in these narrow alleyways and end up in damp hallways begging for your life from a dead beat god that never paid his moral child support. 

Don’t pray 

be afraid 

Accept the chaos that springs from your ribcage and molds the shooting stars that captivate orphans with fabricated adoption papers

Live your life and demand meaning from a world that refuses to supply it like a shity dime and gram grass dealer 

tell em we want an ounce 

Cuss I got spiritual blunts to roll 

And a void that nothing but dreams can be fill 

January Returns

Time has passed by rapidly recently

I closed my eyes in the presence of the lord

In the belief that I was not worthy

Enough

To witness the glory

The glory of time

I am not ready

I say

And the world continues to turn

Then one day I will die

With my last words

I will depart saying

I am not ready

January

Returns

Like a bum to a liquor store

Or The birds in the spring

January

returns

the gray air drapes the earth

why do people live here?

Broadway Oyster Bar

Broadway oyster bar

 

Just before the streets go dark on south Broadway

 

The last light house before the edge of the red brick wilderness

 

An outpost for wanderers seeking asylum from the steel and judgement

 

Pilgrims, hippies, old drunks, new drunks, whores, and catholics

 

Absorb the bright lights and music

 

No one is looking for answers to questions that haunt them before they sleep

 

No one is looking for hope

 

No one is looking for love

 

They just exist in the most beautiful indifference to the holocaust that burns around them

 

An alternate dimension that exists just outside of downtown

 

The music creeps down the street and around the block

 

The blues, oh the blues…

 

The sweet sorrowful blues

 

Holds you tight against the sinful wind

 

Whispers and screams of the broken dreams we all share

 

The broken dreams we left behind on the battlefield

 

But clings to your skin like scars

 

by me a drink

 

let us raise our glass to oblivion

 

and the dreams we left behind