Prison Garden

Watching gardens bloom watching them die full circle surrounded by stone faced bricks that have been bled dry; illusions for my eyes. But what of them? Do they feel trapped; their roots tunnel under where I can’t go? A refuge of nature that is less refuge and more show than all the mini-motors that torture … Read morePrison Garden

Living Dead

What are these thingsthey have all said?Is there lifewhen you’re dead?What does it matterif you’re already dead?What is todayif you only see tommorrow?What a strange brandof future sorrow.

thinking about dc

thinking about dc I drag life away billowing blue my sky tears my eyes open for tears; sadness & joy. Having once had you now is the time for something new. I’ll ask and I’ll get though I should be careful I have not always wanted to be alone, and now 5 hours from home … Read morethinking about dc

Wind In My Bed

Blow, Wind, blow together, you & I will show them just what fast is. Maybe we’ll do it slow to see their bad reactions, maybe they’ll be good — at least done well. Perhaps a show, sly Wind so I can slip my arms around you and have you. Tonight, I will wish you were … Read moreWind In My Bed

Adam’s Chains

I cannot see the day That you will be free I can only see The chains that you strain Against your willingness To grow out of past lives. I can’t tell their strength But i see them in all their glorious grey down pulling sadness. To know each kiss Is as each bird’s breath Brought … Read moreAdam’s Chains

Travel Log

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. … Read moreTravel Log

God Was A Junkie

He awoke with a sweat, Jesus wasn’t up yet. But the angels blew their horns In defiant display. God was sick on that day. Achin’ for the fix he needed so bad, God reached for the rig he kept in his bag – An old crucifix with a needle at the feet – Plunging down … Read moreGod Was A Junkie

Untitled

Man works his fingers till they bleed, tryin’ to provide for his seed.But it doesn’t matter because the worlds a mad hatterand nothing seems to make sensethey were lies about the white picket fence.And we all bought it, at least I didPreachin’ it to me since I was a kid.Pearly whites will get the chick, … Read moreUntitled

Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind