gone from the list

He is so fickle
Is it right for a man to be so fickle?
Affections that wax and wane
According to a diabolical moon

To inhale injustice
We all go hell-ward
Parading
Soon

One aspect not necessary
When kindness never believed

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1945-1968

He’s a street person that happens to have a roof over his head

Thinking that makes it alright

Not knowing

Pretending not to see

Once you absorb that club

It’s life

 

Plays the guitar because that makes the hobo feel special

So he can cry even more

Even more

So unfair! Oh yes life breeds disdain

For everyone who has it made

The street code

Hate

Hate the “have-ers” and

Live to dream the crafty bargain

Swindle

Do anything you have to do

Because there are no ethics

On the street

 

He thinks he has it beat

He thinks respectable breathes

From four thick walls

But this creature is the same

No matter where

Housed

Has no soul

No spark of god

No torch of humanity

 

A vagrant cares only for his own need

And fakes sympathy

Oh they fake it

Very

Very well

 

Smooth words are a cheater’s delight

And he thinks he said good-bye to the night

Believes judgment no longer applies

But instinct grows

From worn sidewalks

Holding a storm of conniving justification

 

It lives!

Was born

Not kicking and screaming

No

Quiet and sharp

 

 

That instinct will never die

A street person

A street shadow

For life

He thinks he left it behind

He thinks he plays a different game

But I know

I know and see

Past through

Into

It’s all the same

 

A nail of vision hurts to understand

There is no savior

For such a man

No saving grace

Because grace won’t live

Through fractured faces

In avenues on the street

 

I am supposed to care

Because that’s what we do

But soon

Soon

The day will come for shocked

Explosions

You didn’t think you got away, did you?

You didn’t think

That we knew

We all knew

All along

 

Yes we have that number

And the day of the street person

Grinds through exact design

One aspect dwindles

Even as we speak

And your spirit of the street

We breed no more

 

That drug is dead

And sorry makes no change

1945-1968

 

Aching within bounds

I am tired of people that try to make other people what they are

A world where being nice becomes a crime of stupidity

Work that delegates pride to the humbled tenacious

TV dinners that shrink while the prices explode

Emotions that believe expression is god-given destiny

Complexities that forget how to dream simplicities

Dogs that bark because they can

Cats that hate with one solid look

Streets that look like avenues and avenues that look like baseball stadiums

Melodies that insist on superiority

Rocket ships using blood for fuel

Government contracts that scratch absurdity’s back

Fake brick

Fake wood

Fake sugar

Fake responsibility

Fake existence on the edge

Of fake “debilitude”

I’m tired of letting distraction run me out of coffee cream

And drinking “misattributes” from mania

I want to not care

Not dream

But time has me by the balls

I forgot to grow

And we only have so much

Only have so many cells and sinew

And degenerated absence

Trundled devotion to frame of construction

Exit polls say we crave

Results

And every creature knows

It takes nothing

The sunspot of nothing

Aching within bounds

To prove quiet is a state of mind

You’re gonna die too

When you speak the pain I don’t want to hear
Look love in the eye
Say there’s no fear
You’re gonna die too
Because donkeys don’t fly when they all eat their peas
And a worship won’t follow when drive sets a breeze
Voices from headstones scream silence free
You’re gonna die too

My world is not what I meant it to be
But then again most the time life lives in dreams
And the fact is forgiveness is not what it seems
You’re gonna die too

We all need one level
For anger to play
A field full of poppies
A lake full of clay
A sky full of stars
A crash when they pay
You’re gonna die too

Look at those leaves as they laugh from a tree
You see life tries to say that you’re better than me
So I fall back on one thing
Oh yes!
It’s reality
You’re gonna die too

I’m not built to be stepped on
Not born to be used
Whether thrown into land
Or buried at sea
We all pay our dues
And that’s alright by me

It’s my one last defense
You can’t say its not true
All I need is to whisper
You’re gonna die too

Waiting to be quartered

Don’t know what to do with your arrogance
Is there a time and place for truncated feeling
A cloud of disillusionment that even
The best are willing to sacrifice

I am not the analyst
For ins and outs of
Sheltered meaning
Distractions within the boundaries
Of love

Backwater design vomited on makings
Of ticking time bombs

I cannot map the nuances
That flow to strike a depth
Perhaps my own inability to see
Mark the passing bridges of emotion
Too deeply wrapped in the feeling itself

Too close to the eruption of spirit

To say that I have always loved you is trite
To say you can still hurt me
Is futile
To tell you that no matter what you despise

Do

Think or believe

I will remember fondly
That
Yes that! my love

Is where you have me drawn