yes! you all are w****s

this title was originally going to be for my autobiography, and then i realized no one would want to read it. guess i'm just running around in circles...

the days of sweaty jocks

standing around in wife beaters

showing off fresh ink on our

backs and biceps

disappeared just a little too fast.

the sour, musty smell

of a locker room at seasons end

as we packed up the s**t

for the final time.

 

the roads we drove down

after midnight in May

smell like our heroes' blood,

slick against our tires.

 

borrowed cigarettes

on a rotten wood balcony.

talking about souls

either passed over

through the white veil

or lingering on

somewhere

just far enough out of town

we'll never make the drive.

 

a woman behind a piano

kisses me with

bluesy tunes.

she's cute in an ugly way,

and right now

there's nothing more

i can hope for.

 

repackaged camel cigarettes

turn me off smoking again.

it's too hard to burn their feet

when there's a faint desire

not quite snuffed out yet.

 

one moment you're king of all you behold

then after a knock at the door

i'm sobbing on my knees,

looking out the window

toward an endless night sky

wondering how the insignificant prayers

will be heard in infinity.

merely, a thumb tapping on a tabletop

in a crowded restaurant

full of voices

shouting at a single waiter.

 

ah, to stroll through a vermont forest

in the fall,

puffing on cherry tobacco.

thick glasses and a shaggy beard

with a warm brown jacket.

musing softly to myself

of mismatched rhymes and meters

that might fit together

if i were a little less lazy.

seated at a desk

in a dark classroom

continually yelled at

until i offer up

the echo of what is happening

at this moment

in this little corner.

a moment of perfect clarity--

vanished like a kiss

we didn't see coming.

 

it's something like marilyn monroe

with a cigarette between her finger

mouthing out delicate puffs of smoke

that smell sweeter than church flowers.

 

who watches over the children?

only black clouds of vapor

to feign the presence

of some superior being

when it can all be dissipated

with a quick gesture of the hand.

 

i have boring company

the same voice in my ear

squaking redundancy

fire engines running through my head,

yet no reprieve.

 

too many times have we tasted

the fat c***s of servitude

and cried like babies

when the safety and familiarity

is pulled from our mouths

and we are told to go free.

too quickly we return to our caves

to sit down among the shadows,

and content ourselves

with darkness and bones.