donate to ya boy

Friday, November 9, 2012


I just wanna write poetry to you until I die
is that all right? do you have some time?
to sit down and decifer each line,decide if I might
be that guy that youd come home to each night

I spy
with my little eye
a nice little wrench in the spokes
thats fucking with my mind.

consistently consenting about constrictions & depections
of nights where we drank to much & ended up deep inside of sin,
in the christan sense
giving into moral temptations & risking friendships

I'd do it all over again.

even though our families are friends,and the group at our wedding would be tight nit
I wouldnt trip on that shit
I love you just how you is.

but im also in buissness of telling people how it goes,so if you want the sunrise
youll have to travel by moonlight,too/
and when those two instances are eye to eye
you'll understand where



a rock floating aimlessly threw the universe...

atop this flaming golden chariot
which abides by neither mans restrictions

I figured I'd get some 'for instances'

just so this limbic system can get a minute.


this is one of those
I wish you could love me
more so,I wish I was older.

(a shoulder open to different aspects & case folders)

I keep falling for women half the age of my mother
a few years shy of my brother
whether this is trouble or not
is yet to be told.

its hurt a lot so far
as everything does.

so these thoughts bring me back to her
the subject of so many words I've strewn before.
so many miles to roam
why do I have to get heart broken in person every time though...
do I just know,
or do I make it be so?

(monologues are optional as we share smoke)

these positive manifestations get me confused & under sweet womens clothes
snuggled up in their homes,where they feed me...
keep me warm.
which is all Ive ever wanted...but their never the one...
I want them so desperatly to be...

but they dont have HER pharamones

(& Im as close to crazy as I can clone)

so if I dont show up soon
GOD knows who will
or who has...

( )

falling in love with those words you read...
why these wiser thoughts appear in my head
& our transcribed by my fingers
so I can keep it to myself until I can get a pen in that hand
or a little rubber on the cement

a few miles further from the desert...where I hear mirages play tricks on lesser heads
but sadly
my eyes are wide open

God Damn the life of a Poet.
the life Ive finally learned to accept
its easier then




...but what isn't...and what is it about this life that dosent make me fear death?
is it that I am the walking dead...
who some how stumbled into heaven
without a thought in his head...

that cold january morning as I ran naked down dirt roads outside of orlando convinced I was only come back to camp to watch you


(and again,these poems are as abstract as the thoughts in my head)

I digress.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

poetry for the desert

stale socks and the smell of 600 cigarettes,
none from yourself
but by,GOD...your a poet,BOY!
YOU were born to smell like the rest of 'em!
We huddle on the premise of the hostel off 66
in 'querque,new mex
talking about the future & what we need from it...
staying hip is why we will bleed from it...
all acceptable...all unreasonable...
"I got your mom at the dream angle with a pocket tube."
those kind of grimy sentences that you'd like to write home about
if even half of your family would understand you
but you don't even understand you!
you end up at synagogs on Sunday mornings for Christan worship services
& free breakfast...high as fuck...delicately discussing your thoughts on the beatitudes;
& what Jesus means to you.
I mean he seems like a cool dude...
so thats why you hide your phone in your pamphlet during the sermon texting your best friend...
"only you dude."
only you would surf the couches of the world from your group...
only you aren't concerned about monetary aspirations...
only you.
and obviously the kingdom of heaven isn't in the rear view...
what kind of poets would we be if we didn't read until we were kicked out of the venue...
"we're all here from out of town,so fuck off! We'll go until you shut us down!"
& even then we wont have half our shit out of the green room...
luckily my green was still in its container...but the eight year olds with a dance show case had some how gotten,Paul's,vodka & pepsi bottle...
so we knew...
smiling and scurrying out as fast as possible with a non sealant attitude...
only to be separated by the gentle sunset of an albequrque beer run...
where bud,metro & I shot shit like bullets
& lindsey,rae & ryder spared no expenses as the night bled with its colors...
the impound breaks & election treason...
the reason half of us will never see what we deserve seeing...
but fuck the reasoning...and fuck hurrying
if I could spend the rest of my life in this moment then I wouldn't trade it for the universe...
and maybe if I was older...
maybe my heart wouldn't be so hard.
AND maybe if you didn't have a superhero...
I'd just take a trip to,Arizona....or say whats on my mind...
or just move into this hostel and just...doze off...waste some time
but reality comes tomorrow...
and I still havent taken these clothes off..
even after the miles of glass I walked...
or the miles of glasses I drank...
I don't know if I can go home ever again...
but then again...this is the first time Ive had a home since I was seventeen (and even that one was owned by the church)
maybe this one time.
maybe this life is working exactly how I deserve it to be...
maybe at this moment,
is smiling down on me saying


instead of writing wills every day...
carving headstones will be my thing.
that way the world will breathe with me.
but no,
some do it for the fame
some for the glorification of their name...
thats why I don't use a real one...its simply God's will.

so I can stay true

Thursday, November 1, 2012


writing poetry to some witch I havent met yet
shovenistic ass clown with a fetish for staying lit
laying in my bed,high as fuck,complaining about the current state of the american government.
and its come to this...hash hits with no britches on,with the brink of winter
gas stove on,cooking up marvelous rhymes in the kitchen,in which I get
minor praise for doing,
a sign that sylvan learning center didnt do shit for this middle class mad dog
a major reason I should have been tossed to the heathens covered in seasoning
because the season is the reason Im bringing the pain
& im still not being taught expenses,or the way to stay complaicent in the middle of the rat race.
lest I move on.
all wrong/all right
I love women all night due to perscription drugs and lack of a better passtime
ass rhymes spew out in my down time,the main reason my mom frowns everytime I get in
town now,
class clown into cash cow,just the way things work out
foul mouth spinning harsh words because
family reads it too
new world tactics to let everyone know this old soul
dos what he dos
rude...the main complaint these days
0 fucks
the tings I gave
still...spit until my cup is filled
or I get myself killed
because I can do nothing but be
all to get a
all those feels.


spring,hail,sleet,snow,July turn December
these blistered fingers are hook,line & zinger
got me into the dialogue like Maury/Wilkos/Springer....preacher with a heater
digg & get the meter,
meteor shower type word reader at his zenith
word of mouth come up on the lowkey parade of leachers
watch as I spin this art & your soul is reached...
due to me,naw,im simply out in the streets
fuckin up towns
demanding clout,stringing
your just in your hometown
complaing about how you never get
I see all sorts of things
like passion in the rain
or blood stains on the audomin
inaudible gargalling from my followers
because no man deseves
and I barely have 60.00 dollars to my dick
being that its almost winter
I should dip south & dissapear for a bit
but Im way to proud to
so Ill just sit still and
every single word I ever conjured in the cauldron I call
post modern DADA
realisim with a hint of not giving a fucking