"Hold close to those lil things you never noticed when love was playng its mean triick. Those lil things can now save you. and so on... 11million tiny lil things to focus on, to keep busy, to distract us... Cuz, let's face it! I'd rather be Happy, than Right, any day of the week. Of course, I'm not...not yet...but that's where it all falls apart, right? Work my fingers to the bone to forget a gambled my future on an emotion (mainly in the bed), put my chips behind the wrong reject who wouldnt even admit there was a wager present, whose mental illness was only slightly surpassed...by my...mental illness. So it goes. Bad for dancing. No good for romance. Good, only for breedin purposes. small victory. i'll take it."

Untitled

Me and my mama's two dogs
stand like statues in her backyard.
We all seem patient, waiting
for the tempature to drop
with the slowly setting sun.
It's reached 40degrees at 3pm today.
And to my restless mind,
the cold, the cold here in Georgia,
holds us down.
The dogs don't wanna play.
I don't want to laugh, or
go see my son.
I just wanna stand here
with these mangy dogs,
smokin' a cigarette,
waiting for the sun to tuck back
behind the still pines.
And for night to come on
with it's warm bars filled with
slow beer and dying dreams.
Someday we'll figure this out.
For now, we'll hunker down
and wait for winter to pass.

THC induced anxiety attack

This evening I
manufactured a
THC induced
anxiety attack

I can't say why
I smoked the stuff
except to say
no other drugs
were availible

I paced nervously the
living room of
my sister's house
trying to grasp ahold
of my runaway thoughts

I had no luck
my emotions ran amok
until my sister arrived home
an invited me out with
her friends to play pool

As I walked into the
smokey, ill-lit bar filled
with rednecks, deviants,
degenerates, and hustlers
I immediately felt
at home

For the first time
this evening
I feel alright

John Man's BBQ Paradise

=============================================

John Man's
BBQ Paradise
=============================================

Seasoning salt, pork butts
and sweat.

Ugly, ancient Fryers that
Ol' John Man aint cleaned
in weeks! But hell,
the boy's on salary.
And ol' Mr Henry's workin'
him 75hrs a week.

What those Fryers pump out
though, is pure side-dish
heaven! Corn Nuggets with
Ranch dressing, or Sweet
Potato Frys with Lil' Henry's
secret cinnamon dip.
They go great with a 3way
Platter: Ribs, Brisket &
Pork Butt. Whatever feeds
the local Fireman or
Passing Tourist from the
interstate that's half a
mile down the road.

It's alright, John Man.
Ol' Henry (Sr or Jr) will
tell you that all the crud
and crust in those Fryers
is just extra seasoning!

"Check the smoker before
you leave, John Man!"

When you get home you'll
smell like smoke and meat,
even after two showers. And
them good ol' Georgia Boys
and Girls are still going
to have bellies achin' for
real pit BBQ tomorrow.

Get some sleep, John Man.
Hunger will be waiting
to do battle again
on some other sunny day.

Broken Hearts are for Strangers

=============================================
*****
Broken Hearts are for Strangers
=============================================

The copulated remainder of
every failed union
gathers just like old newspaper clippings
yellow, stale-smelling, cracking at the edges
this happens to the best of us who
search for a complimentary soul

yet
nothing stings like the amputation of
soft intimacy
no bed is ever colder
than the one recently evacuated
by one of two

take heed! All the
lone hearts of midnight
this feeling WILL fade
just not on your time

somewhere in a smokey room
strewn with remainders from
former lives, previous loves,
enough time will pass for
the best of us to continue
moving forward
hearts on our sleeves
meeting our next heartbreaks
through a cyber-shop window

Long Slow Fall from Grace

Long Slow Fall from Grace=============================================
kiss me
=============================================

kiss me coldly
tie me up
blind my eyes and
string me up

I need this pain,
this hard abuse
it helps me find
that inner truth

it's not a game
it's not for kicks
this isn't about
no sexual bliss

This is method,
madness driven
This is what I
can't forgive

the darkness lying
just beneath
that'd kill me without
some release

so kiss me coldly
tie me down
blind my eyes
become my ground

3:11am Tuesday Feb 16th

It's official: my father's old. I had to clean up his shit last night. This life is ugly when you stick around. There's always some mess to clean up. From dust-bunnies to dead bodies, debris builds as this world stubbornly circles the sun.

I used to wait tables at an ecclusive island hotel. And I waited on a few rich, important people. Once a rich man asked me, "What's it like out on the streets? How are the common people taking the economy?"
This man assumed my finger was on the blue-collar pulse of the nation. There was a benevolence to his approach that pre-supposed my mediocracy, in comparison. I don't know what that rich man wanted to hear. I told him, "We common people are doing the best we can." I said it with a numb, yet sincere, smile.

So reason should come find me one of these long years. Time gets shorter the longer I wait. And though I've written and read with passion, I haven't mastered serenity. Inside, I'm not ok. All any of us can do is keep going. Sometimes that's all there is. Purpose takes a backseat to pragmatism. Things slow and settle. To world washes us to odd shores. What wonder waits? Filled with pain, and sadness, but moving forward all the same.

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