youth in his favor with young wome… a whole world ahead of him but the silly son of a bitch doesn… instead of seizing the day he spends his time obsessing over…

on a night back in 1998 at the 24 hour Happy Chef diner in Fort Dodge, Iowa when both of us were drunk and stoned

sobering up is a lot like waking up you don’t really remember your dre… but you know they were more exciti… than this

i saw atrocity and deceit upon the… blood spilling down its jagged cli… tragedies unbound scaling the peak i tried to warn others not to climb this vicious monster

we can wear the morning air like a jacket and move deep into those bright

my body is not a temple it is more like a corner bar in Wisconsin kneeling

when at war for so long peace becomes an awkward conflict so you keep fighting

word traveled fast about the man with the crying ears sad with silence an absence of music left an absence in him

the Allen Bradley Tower clock looks at me like an all knowing ey… it tells me “you are home you were not born here

i was born in a basket of apples out of place from the start always berated by questions like “where is your stem?” “why are you so round?”

sipping cocktails in a dark corner… lit with cigarettes and neon we edged ourselves closer to the end of our stools to the end of our drinks

you took leave of Egypt for southwest Tennessee the African sun left for the warmth of Sun Record… i commend the move you made

for all the good of the day she sought the places where youths did play a few kind words to say a light to make her darkness grey

last seen at the brink of the abys… screaming at god laughing at the devil and smoking loose tobacco dark eyes and burnt skin

Sue lurks near my street I have thoughts of kissing her but fear to commit