Lost Souls

Solidified Ghosts, Articulate Zombies.

…spare some change for the cold, hungry and oppressed, mentally unstable products of this unsustainable in-human machine that feeds on blood and dinosaur bones and wipes its ass with the trees… a snake that chases its own tail and swallows himself whole…A closed system ruled by a false and mechanical order that is the epitome of chaos itself.

Icy Stares

Icy sparks on the pavement flashing from frozen, vacant stares of soul-less mechanical caricatures rendered mindless and numb…

Blood On The Street.

Blood on the street..words to a story left untold…spilled paint on an empty canvas…art that will never be sold…Blood on the side-walk…shimmering in the streetlight…turns to rust beneath the sun…cold rain washes it out of sight. Blood on the street.

Uncontrolled Substance

You pull back the curtains and slip inside your mind, you search and you search but the Truth you cannot find. Stumbling through this maze you can’t see from all the smoke, blinded by the haze as you take another toke. Smoke and mirrors shots and lines death’s shadow on the wall, your perception of reality shatters and you fall, endless tunnels leading nowhere bodies strung along the way, hungry souls just like you searching for the light of day. The air is stale and filled with stench as you struggle for your breath, you count your enemies as friends barbiturates and crystal meth, side by side and hand in hand with loneliness your guide, you walk into a gray cloud, into nothingness abide. Out of body out of mind, you’re high above it all. But what goes up must come down when you’re high you trip and fall. You come crashing down to where you where before, reality kicks your ass as you lie there on the floor

Enclosed Forest

an enclosed forest littered with popcorn crumbs, dirty socks and nail clippings behind a wooden door, bottle-caps and a couple of roaches that bit my fingers the night before…Strung out pair on the window sill airing out their tongues in the winter wind, strings and holes and worn out souls a pair without a friend. Screens panes and mini-blinds strain out rays of light, bricks; mortar and ceiling tiles keep the cell airtight.

The Wound

my prayers are bouncing off the ceiling again, suffocating loneliness these walls my only friend, festering wounds never had a chance to heal, I’ve kept them buried deep within but now my skin begins to peel. The sedative wears off, the numbness fades away, this hurts too much to feel but this pain is here to stay. broken and bleeding I fall down on my face, trembling and heaving I go back to that place, voices from the past I can’t forget though I’ve tried, though I run so hard and fast from this pain I can’t hide. I go back to that place that shaped who I became, the day my heart died the day my soul was slain. My knees getting weak, my heart full of fright, a helpless little boy but a man I will fight. Fight to win back what is rightfully mine, a fight to the death my heart is on the line. A great wave of strength filled me from above. I swung my sword fearlessly and won back my heart of love

Stranded Soldier.

There was a one-legged man with a gas can and crutches walking on the side of the road in the rain. I pulled over and gave him a lift hoping that he wasn’t insane. His arms were covered were covered in road rash, and prison tattoos faded by the sun, his back was hunched from years of packing a duffel bag that weighed a ton. He had two fingers over his adams’ apple and his thank you was more like a wheeze, he had a hole in his throat, he’d been shot thru the neck and he whistled ever time that he breathed. I bought him some gas at the 7-11 and I brought him back to his van, and i asked where he was headed and he said I’m headed to the promised land.

You Don’t See That Everyday.

a has-been rockstar was telling me his story with tears in his eyes…
an old world war 2 motorcycle rode by…olive green…a man and his dog…The dog was in the side-car…wearing matching googles and the same intent expression…you don’t see that everyday…he said as his eyes came back to the present moment…I could see them in my minds eye…the bike idling at a red light…man and dog looking each other in the eye…the dog panting, the man winking… and simultaneously they take a glance around the traffic…just to see who thinks they look cool.

Ms. Elmira

I took a walk just the other day. I saw my neighbor, Ms. Elmira, along the way. She was walking her dog, his name is Spot. It’s kinda funny cuz Spot’s a Rot. She swears up and down she saw Elvis at circle K. She reads the Enquirer and watches Oprah every day. She ain’t got much money cuz she’s a sucker for a deal. She’s keeps a prayer cloth under her pillow and she thinks pro. wrestling is for real. She’s Ms. Elmira.

Modern Day Siddartha.

He just sat there in the rain, not feeling any pain, like a modern day Siddartha. Suffering thru the numbness of a caracturized reality, once upon a time laden with warmth and affection…now, cold and vacant he stares into the obscure mist with a needle in his arm. Gone. To gone to feel, to breathe…the pain of consciousness too much for him to bear…needing nothing, wanting even less…Nirvana. Nothingness. A needle, a syringe and tourquinet…Buddha, Jesus, and the Devil.

Hotel Lobby Bar.

The band played Sweet Mellissa and the waitress smiled her plastic grin. “Would you like another?” “No thankyou I believe I’m fine, I’ve gotta go after this one.” The song is over and the band is packing up…I guess they were feeling the same. This bar is so lame. Caution- surface may be hot, says the little placard on the fake ass fireplace behind a plate-glass window. What am I doing here? I guess I just wanted to hear Sweet Mellissa. Feeling dead. Tired of all the fake fireplaces, plate-glass windows, and plastic grins, not to mention the 4 dollar budweisers. What am I doing here? Just killing time, or maybe time is killing me. I gotta get out of here. I guess I’ll finish my beer. 4 dollar bud and a dollar tip…coulda bought a f***in 6-pack.

Bordertown Riff-Raff

He’s just your average bordertown riff-raff thumbed a ride out of El Paso, crossed that line in the desert sand, headed south where the cocaine grows. Running from child-support, bills and rent, speaking broken spanish with a southern accent, searching for a place to rest his bones. Met a senorita so young and full of life who over a margarita he asked to be his wife, and they settled down and made themselves a home. But there wasn’t enough Tequila in all of Mexico to satisfy the thirst of his dry and thirsty soul, and once again the drifter began to roam.

Nichole

She said she was from Jersey, her name was Nichole, she didn’t have an accent, said it doesn’t fit the role. She’s so far from home…Came to Hollywood when she was seven-teen, running from her past and chasing down a dream. She’s lost in a sea of people but she still feels so alone. I told her reality is what this town lacks; they’ll suck out your soul and embalm you with wax. But how she wants to be an exhibit at the show…She’s reciting her lines and rolling the dice, she gotta get paid but she doesn’t know the price. Her innocence is fading from those pretty brown eyes…It just doesn’t fit the role.

Jenn

She’s got fire in her eyes and a monkey on her back, she’s walking thru the quarter looking for a sack, she say’s she’s leaving town and she ain’t never coming back, but I don’t think she’s going anywhere…Everywhere she goes everybody knows her name, she gets just what she wants she knows how to play the game, she says she’s tired of this town, everything’s the same, but I don’t think she’s going anywhere…she say’s working these streets is a tough row to hoe, even though she’s on paper she says she’s ready to go, she says she’s as free as a bird but I don’t know, I don’t think she’s going anywhere…we’re sitting at the moonwalk staring out at the river, she’s got a son on the west bank she knows he’ll forgive her, she said “I just gotta do me for awhile.” She looks me in the eye and she gives me a smile, and the wind ruffles her long brown hair, she says she’s wild and free and doesn’t have a care, but I don’t think she’s going anywhere

Sauna Detox

I sit in silence except for the steady drip of sweat cascading down my bowed head gathering speed as it rolls down the slope of my nose and for a brief moment of suspense, clinging to the end of my nose for dear life before it plummets into the shallow puddle at my feet. As I nod to the rhythm of the suicidal lemurs of perspiration, the steady 4/4 time increases tempo and switches to duple meter as the puddle gets deeper and expands, slowly oozing down the slight grade of the tile floor, flowing towards the grated drain, a trapdoor of escape from its dehydrating host. A thick slime covers my body and the putrid stench of heroin residue seeping out of my pores turns my stomach as I painfully relive coming down. The sweat stings my eyes and the river branches off into tributaries as the beat is interrupted by rouge droplets swan diving from my forehead.

Feining Deaf

I was twenty miles west of Davenport and I had whiskey on my breath, got pulled over by the police and I pretended I was deaf. He asked me for my license and I feigned I didn’t hear. I threw my jacket on the floorboard to hide those empty cans of beer. I attempted some sign language and he repeated himself slow, I squinted real hard to read his lips, I put on quite a show. After several failed attempts he went back to his car, as he drove off in disgust I headed back to the bar.

Chasing the Sun

I tried to catch the sun today, I knew I couldn’t but I tried anyway, I watched her rise a work of art, then I headed west to get a head start. I rode all morning with her beating my back; I took an early lunch, a quick little snack. I’m making good time I thought as I filled my cup but before I knew she finally caught up. I fired up the engine and started to race, but as fast as I rode she still shined on my face.

Wax Museum

Walking the beat down this glittering street, illuminated with a fluorescent glow, beauty more shallow than skin, molds of painted paraffin, pay the man at the door to see the show. Fancy sports cars, smell of cheap cigars, city of lost angels and shooting stars, the beat drowns out the hollow sound, and there’s card-board houses lining skid row and a fog over the valley casts an eerie orange glow…The beat drowns out the hollow sound.

Ship wrecked Pilgrims

Clinging desperatly to the driftwood timbers…ruins of a temple long destroyed …built and rebuilt from the ruins… imagining the sky beneath a giant hand… the ship wrecked pilgrims with solitary hands reaching out under the fog for solidarity…clinging to ancient myths… binding themselves together under the solemn observance of the past… prostrating themselves before the graven images of their fore fathers… clinging desparatly to thier ideals and convictions, nostalgic for the past and fearful of the future… they are blinded for straining to see a god beyond the sun… lost in a sea of illusion.. waiting for the sky to part… and fighting for the promised land.

24 hour Diner

Tonight’s the night I get high and write…drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes all night long…its only 2am. And I’ve already written a song and I’ll sing it just for you…

I’m the loser in the corner with a notebook and a pen…I slip outside and I get high and then I’m back again…I don’t take up much space…I feel a little out of place…I’m not here to make a deal or score some skin…I’m a little too far in my head…maybe I’m already dead…but just you wait cuz I’ll be back again…I just got to pay for my own sins…but I see a light shining so bright and I stand unashamed in its rays…I don’t owe nobody nothing and there ain’t no dues to pay.

What I’ve been doing these days

these days I’m laying low…ain’t trying to put on a show…just listening to the wheels turn round and round…thinking about my life…all the pain and strife…wondering what it is I’m doing wrong…Its raining and it’s cold I’m tired of doing what I’m told…it’s a good day to get high and write a song…and I hope you sing along.

 No Longer Slaves

We are no longer slaves but kings…no longer children but men…no lords…no masters…equality in the midst of an illusion of tyranny…I am not built to be a slave…no man is. 

Beyond the Circus.