June 6th, 2003
Mama put your ass against the window.
Baby blow a kiss across my nose.
Sister let the heat settle for a minute.
Honey, stop over for a fuck or a blow.
Lady, I’ll smoke with you the pleasures of the body,
If you’ll chew with me on the meat of our souls.
June 6th, 2003
Fuck you, I’ll never go back. Not to that bohemian brothel.
I won’t go for all the cigarettes in the world
And I won’t go for your love.
I’ll pass on by its ugly neon teeth
Threatening my penis.
And I’ll remember who you were
Before you sold your goodness down the river
In trade for a fake fence on sharecroppers’ land
With a good ol’ missionary humping before bed –
Drunk breath hot on your ears,
All the while you know he’s thinking of your oldest daughter.
I’ll not want what you want.
June 6th, 2003
There’s a million things in those magazines
That can fill your mind with desire.
They can save your time and recover your keys.
They’ll never fill your heart with love.
They’ll never satisfy me.
June 6th, 2003
The hand of the devil rests on the land,
his spine a mesa of vertebrae.
The white waves chop from the sea of clouds,
as the storms toss the sky.
I’m starin’ at the guys book all about himself – said somethin’ like, “Learn about yourself,” only it seems to me that you can’t learn about yourself from a book the way you might learn about some 4th grade social studies.
June 6th, 2003
My body is a crumpled heap left to waste at 5 miles in the sky.
I rocket through from place to place.
I don’t even remember where I’ve been –
started out on the east coast
went as far as I could.
One thing I always thought peculiar:
the eerie silence on the tube.
Sure you’ve got the demons in the wings
whizzing and purring and the constant hiss
coming from the roof of the beasts mouth.
The monster never seems to rest,
Like when Jonah was trapped in the belly of the whale,
the thing just kept on moving and moving.
June 7th, 2003
Seduction at its finest is subtlety defined.
Not for me, however, seduction for me is a sledge hammer.
Love does not blossom but for a few minutes.
Like the morning glory,
Love shrivels up and withers away under the prying eyes of the sun.
It is that temporal beast that swallows life times whole with out ever savoring their robust character.
It does not smile when it finds you.
It does not frown.
It is mechanical and human, lost in instruction.
It is the gentle whore who leads you into sin
And the hard lips of the bottle determined to destroy you.
I have surrendered to love and all its misfortune because
I know it’s pointless to fight with her,
The raging sea.
We are the cliffs that will give way eventually to her desires.
June 8th, 2003
Her smile is infections and her ankles are serene.
The blonde peach fuzz seems to want to be…
It wants to be something.
And those eyes are a dream to be had, remembered and cherished.
That’s how she is.
But I just can’t place that accent.
June 8th, 2003
Fighting dogs – every one eventually dies. It’s all guts and glory until you’re there on the ground, bleedin’ out and whimpering whishin’ you’d of had more fight in ya. You can’t go straight – not without a straight jacket – cause the fightin’ dog don’t know nuthin’ but killin’. You can try and tell ‘em to just lie down and sleep by the fire, but you can’t make ‘em, cause sooner or later another dogs gonna wander by and one if ‘em is gonna die.
Sooner or later the rules of a soft bed and a day job will collide with the tug of a chain and the fences and concrete quarters. And when that happens, the fighting dog goes down cause the powers in the numbers and the numbers he ain’t got.