My brain is jumping rope with my responsibilities
my heart is putting pins on my seat
and my words are thumbing their nose
high as a kite with a *** addiction
laughing like it’s all I have to go on
I just put my sunglasses on
so the drive thru cashier
doesn’t see the glassy red mischief
taking a selfie with the planet
keeping in touch with my unhealthy habits
I’m not chasing
***** that
I’m riding the rabbit
excuse me sir,
but could I trouble you for the time
all I’m asking for is a few more hours
to play hide and seek with my inner child
and tickle the monsters under my bed
the voice in my head is off on tour
so the mice are playing cat
prowling the alleys of recess city
to find that fine feline
who tells me she’s a dog person
TV made my couch a dime piece
music made me see things differently
and writing gave me a false sense of invulnerability
so I write another poem
pen another cry for validation
told my mamma I’m shooting for the moon
but he’s one crafty *******
and my water pistol is full of bourbon
not sure if I’m crazy or sane
not sure if I’m playing the game
or riding a train to arrested development
but let’s get a cup of coffee
and debate waking up before noon

walking through artificial American Dream
where the air tastes like $100 shirts
and the fraternity of extravagance
the light shines through the perfectly spaced trees
to turn everything filigree
and all of the people
walking tall and confident
like plastic action figures of success
the silver spoon tastes bitter
when it’s been in someone else’s mouth
just like the $30 dollar entrees
and the four story department stores
these people are not my people
my people sport scars which they wear like tattoos
my people sport second hand cars with junked up speakers
A ferrari engine sounds like a the cries of every young kid
who falls into ghetto trappings of big dreams gone unmatched
and even the homeless people were eating ribs
drinking starbucks
with cups filled with ten dollar bills
the prestige drips down the wall
like fresh spray paint
to drip into storm drains
where diversity goes to die
this alien land of hostile takeovers
and university donors
where the **** is non-existent
but *******, cirroc, and xanax
flow freely
chemical castration of the lazy philosopher
an injection of man made ambition
where the hands on the Rolex
keep tight around throats
because being late to that meeting is no option
Children being driven around by chauffeurs in Bentleys
women being driven by the promise of security
I think to myself
I’ll never see the benefit in the scheme
which leads to El Dorado
and Atlantis is just a myth
maybe I just bleed the black and Gold and Richmond
like the ink dripping off my hungry fangs
to see the benefits of injecting a syringe
of Hoya blue liquid sapphire
to get so high
that I lose sight of the ground forever

The walls are vibrating
with sweat pouring
my artificial heartbeat
is the recorded sounds
of feet taking flight up sidewalk runways
pouring with sweat
heart exploding
and maybe if it does
I can get something on the page
for you magnificent sons of *******
but my appetite will be vanquished
in t-minus one hour
the extended release of last nights beer
and smoke permeating through skin
blow it in the air
to show the trip wires
my desk chair dusty and lifeless for too long
“how’s the writing going, Harry?”
about as well as when poets try to be real people -
so a lot of complaining and selfish procrastination -
but my crosshairs are all aligned
trigger finger itchy
the sarcastic, *****, dropout, “just rolled out of bed”
cynical wordsmith
with a chipper chip on my shoulder
and just like lays you can’t just have one
so I’m quick to 86 any competition
who are too quick to toe over my line
you don’t wake a hibernating bear
and you certainly don’t poke the starving wolf
when the grease from last night’s dinner
coats your skin like slime
my hands are shaking
and homework is due by the start of class yesterday
But I’ll be fine, Ma
I’ve got a mouth full of big talk
and eyes full of short sighted leaps of faith
my soul blows through alleys, avenues, and storm drains
and it tastes just like little kid medicine
something artificially sweet masking the bitterness
When I was a little **** -
making dens, kicking cans, and ringing doorbells -
they told me I could be anything
except tall enough to ride all the good roller coasters
so now, I’m a carnie in a booth
getting revenge on the world
by ignoring all the kids screaming
for me to stop the ride
I’m no artist
far cry from a poet
I’m a kid, too smart for his own good
too dumb to know better
to confused to guess at the ending
of this movie

“...I have no time for the ignorance of others.”
said the fool
“I know what I’m doing. I can handle my own ****,
thank you very much.”
Said the marked man
“I’ve still got plenty of time to salvage this thing.”
said the wrongful optimist
“okay, smarty-******* - what would you do?”
Said the *******
“I do just fine on my own. Im better off.”
Said the man, too focused on not drowning
to see the land all around him
“I’m better than that guy, why should I have to wait?”
said the novice
“I just need some more time to practice.”
said the wary apprentice
“I just need some free time”
said Mr. Self-deception - Self-appeasement
“I just need to rest my eyes.”
said Mr. I’m going to pass out on this couch
“I love you.”
said the stepping razor
“I’m happy.”
said the drug addled hobo
“I didn’t know she had a boyfriend, I promise.”
said the teenager with a penchant for trouble,
as he stole smokes from his sleeping parents
“I need you to tell me how ******* incredible I am,
so I can tell you how wrong you are
with a real nice feeling in my gut
like a double shot of let it be”
said the silly little wannabe artist
“***** this place. **** all of these
over emotional teenagers
and **** this sanctuary
for circle jerking back patting”
said the sore loser
“Can I start you guys with something to drink?”
said the street corner beggar
as he looked for five dollars
to eclipse the gas light
of the speeding hatchback
“I wish you wouldn’t worry so much about me.”
said the skeleton covered in skin,
tendons,
sinews,
and strained muscles shaking from the nerves
“Want to go out tonight?”
said the bored future adult
running away from the sunset
“I just have no luck.”
said the guy who didn’t spend enough time
breaking walls and knuckles
in the basement of anonymity
“What do you have to say to that?”
Said Harry J. Baxter -
the smart-assed kid
in a 20 year old’s body
with an expensive pen
and dime store poetry
falling out the pockets
of his sagging pants
“What do you have to say?”
Said the empty blank pages
of the happily chaotic universe

She was walking down the street
and the way she looked -
the way she seemed to glide over
the litter strewn concrete
in that thrift store sundress -
punched me right in the throat
she said she didn’t have a name
said she was raised by wolves
Well I guess that’d make you a *****,
right?
she asked me for a lighter
for her American Spirit -
the turquoise box -
and she smelled like diner coffee
my ashtray
and cheap perfume
the black smudges of makeup
lining her face
told me that she was no stranger
to long nights
and I told her
I’m no stranger to
falling for pretty girls
maybe one day
I’ll be there to catch you
she said,
walking away down the street
disappearing into the spot
where the horizon meets my imagination
I pulled up my pants
and went off looking for a soft landing

Alcohol, marijuana, and opiates just weren't enough,
I had to breathe deeply and slowly and snort some white dust.
Boy, that did it; rubbed clean my brain, got rid of that rust.
Cause it's get high or bust
and alcohol, marijuana, and opiates just weren't enough.

Now I'm wondering what's left;
a broken promise or three,
I'm sorry I didn't mean it,
but I meant it at the time.
I'm trying my best but I really need some rest.