November is the cruelest month
Reminiscence forced of things far gone and
Bitter foreshadowing of what is to come

The leaves have lived up to their name
The trees, a shell of what they once were
The grass clings to its last hope
The temperature makes its empty threats

The beauty of Autumn deteriorates
She is haughty and cruel
We were strung along for so long
But like all good things
Her presence is too fleeting

We try to rationalize her departure
We didn’t need her anyway
Her sister is far more beautiful
Autumn was never committed
We will look for someone else
What luck!
Her sister is coming
Her name is winter!
But alas, how could we love
Someone so bitter and cold?

November is the cruelest month
Joy is attacked in a dark alley
Melancholia does the mugging
Bitterness steals the Hope
November tears apart the heart
With a ruthlessness unseen
In any other month.

The days are soon so short and cold
The landscape is so barren
There is a hint of snow
But it is more like rain
It is so unfortunate to see
Nature’s beauty going all to waste

The thirtieth is here
Judgement Day has arrived
It is only possible to conclude
July was great if too hot indeed
January hard but nearer the end
September its usual lovely self
One month stands alone in its horror
November is the cruelest month

Features, my reflection—
subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply,
their evidence a betrayal of age.
A wrinkle looking deeper,
mane of face, of head—hairs
fresh lacking pigment.

Vain attempts made to mend heart,
to sooth soul's dread.
Testimony of experience
of wisdom, persistence, perception,
an impotent contraceptive, the argument
aberrant.

Regret to cloud memory, my youth
seeming a flesh and blood cliche.
Tiny footnotes heavy with prose,
words in bold
to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention.
Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight
of love and heartache
of passion's attempt failing,
to try again, sinking before succeeding.
An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent
unpredictable—without cause changing.

Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future,
the venom of defeat an insidious invasion.
This new age creeping toward night
in this stage my life's sun less bright.
Maturity's introduced responsibility,
some enjoyable while others to own hostility.
A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure.
Spurring combat for what remains of youth,
fingers wrapping air in futile seizure.

The inevitable to command subservience,
presuming ownership of life, though the mature
demonstrate the defiance of the immature.
Objects, activities, music assaulting ear,
their manner,
symbols of strict adherence to who once was—
a spiteful surrender refusal.

A piece of me defining me until no more,
years holding power—threatening
to change who I am at very core.
Canvas construction the colour of murre,
rubber toe caps the shade of pure.
Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected;
a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection,
a Converse rebellion.
In torment of age's scars,
I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.

I'm mugging you
Seriously though, have my coffee mug.

Swirling a frosty straw
Stuck up like a victory flag in winter ground
With my lips wrapped around it
I stare into this empty canvas
of a vanilla malt
And project my cartoonish headaches
into it to devour it
Oh those ****** Doo monsters
Shadows that lurk to cut my Tom & Jerry humor
Only to formulate semblances of evil
A Mojo JoJo caricature
I then project into my milkshake
His smirk haunts the smile of Tweety Bird
In my Hanna-Barbara mindfield
Colorful spirals of animated joys
Let me know slurp Elmer Fudd shotgun
That was mugging my creativity
And robbed me of my motive
Let me taste the refreshing winds
That flow through the deserts of Road Runner
Taking laps around my heart
With its true intentions in a love letter
I will never get
Soon slurped and eaten to take away the thoughts
And now I hope I can drink another
To rip out the rest of the pain that in my heart

At first I hear snarls, "Nice
jeans, ******!" although I'm
sure they don't include any
punctuation when ragging
on my anorexic pants
as if my jeans have anything
to do with my sexuality as if
the color of skin had anything
to do with last week's mugging
as if Catholics didn't once
**** for religion.

Spt 5-- domestic dispute inv alcohol + firearms Hawkins Terr. area-- Spt 7-- burglary purses stolen from 3 cars Wipple St-- night of Spt 18-19-- vandals untied shoes of large statue Center Park-- Spt 20-- mugging homeless suspect young woman cheeseburger Rt 8--

Gettin’ ****t on like I’m The Villian,
got this queasy feeling on the line reeling,
coming undone at the same time wound up and spun,
I’m done playing but stuck at the table with The Dealer still dealing,

want to throw myself up out of myself,
can escape every position except the one I’m in,
can’t escape yourself if knowledge is wealth,
then I’m loaded & still spending my winnings,

got Karma Credit but I’m morally cash poor,
because I just fckt my girlfriend as if she was a *****,
and I feel terrible or rather horrible about it,
because i think I’m infected by what neglect did without a cure,

no one is pure,
at least I’m not that’s for sure,
I'm tainted with devils in my head painted with what I spilled I’m red,
sick with the sort of illness that can't easily be cured,

in fact got a bad case of the blues,
but instead of strumming a guitar I’m taking things too far,
cut her so bad with my fingernails,
that I fear it might leave a few scars,

tied her up so tight,
that her wrists turned purple,
see she’s attracted to bad boys,
and I warned her that that’s the type of attraction that can hurt you,

little girl shouldn’t be out past her curfew,
nothing good ever happens past midnight,
but we’re both running from something,
both stand outs in the in crowd still something doesn’t sit right,

I’m uncomfortable,
because I think maybe all humans are disgusting,
maybe we just cause each other pain and trash the earth’s surface,
maybe we deserve to feel guilty & that’s why we are all fcking distrusting,

maybe I’m gonna fckn **** myself,
but this is a card game so then again maybe I’m bluffing,
maybe everything’s going to be alright,
maybe I’m being uptight for nothing,

but I’ll tell you what I feel like the **** of my own joke,
but I don’t give a fck so instead of changing I’m just shrugging,
mean mugging every person I pass suspicious of every bloke,
because these days crime pays and everyone’s always up to something,

and I just want to get ghost,
but I can’t and I guess that’s the way it goes,
so I’m sittin’ in the uncomfortable position,
of being both a role model as well as a criminal,

Gettin’ ****t on like I’m The Villian,
got this queasy feeling on the line reeling,
coming undone at the same time wound up and spun,
I’m done playing but stuck at the table with The Dealer still dealing…

∆ LaLux ∆

Never lived in the hood, I been good
Grew up in Glendale cuz pops did everything he could 
To keep this big roof that covers everywhere I stood
And keep bills paid so the house work like it should
But, that don't mean that I ain't live with no problems
I grew up liking girls and all I tried to do was holla
From 05 to 09 I used to always pop my collar
And walked up to see what a chic would do for a dollar
But come 2010 I learned a dollar doesn't get far
Start asking pops for money, he said what you need these bills for
I said just to have cash so I can buy stuff myself 
He said how is it yo self when it's coming from my wealth 
And in the end he was right so I ain't ask for no more help
Got a job, got paid, getting green, sea kelp
And well, I guess it all turned out great
From 210 to 2 now I been working for the cake
More hours, more pay
Is what I always say
Just to go and motivate
So I can get through everyday
Man I do this for thrill, I don't really need this money
And stop mugging me down, I ain't tryna take yo hunny
But please don't get mad if she like me cuz I'm stunning
And you dressing kinda bummy
Man yo breds ain't even gummy
My high tops get their own box
And my boxes reach high tops
My collection's a high top
You can't even make gumby
You funny
You mad at me for what ? Yup, nothing 
But haters gone hate so ill let you do what you does see
Cuz time don't ever stop, matter fact it's running from me
And I'm tryna catch up cuz less time means less money
So you go do you, and I'm gone do me til I'm done g
Cuz I ain't wasting sand in my glass if you don't love me
And don't be fake now, I don't want you tryna hug me
Cuz you know germs is germs and haters be on that *****
Yeah im nerdy, I'm smart
I'm a walking piece of art 
And I write these rhymes for fun
But it all comes from the heart 
I keep hundreds, yes hundreds of poems inside the dark
And more hundreds, maybe thousands get lost before they start
You know how you at the store putting stuff in yo food cart
Then get home and wonder what you bought all of this food for ?
Yeah these poems fill hunger that resides deep inside me
They are not just fun, they have now become a pride for me
And maybe it'll be more, maybe this pride can make it shine for me
Maybe all these girls around the world will build shrines of me
But now I gotta go, cuz you know how time can leak
Plus I don't want y'all think that y'all know what defines B. 
But I can't stop there, it's unfair to the public
And I know that y'all like it but I dare y'all to love it
Cuz if you love it then I'll keep going
Till it start snowing
And you knowing
Even though it's snowing
It ain't never boring 
Cuz these bars wasn't meant for snoring 
Meant for adoring fans
That'll still love me when I'm old and I'm done touring
I could do this for the rest of my life
I just love it, it takes pain away and dries every eye 
With out poems, I don't know man I just might die
This is real, when I write I just cannot lie
So, you can catch me in my notepad writing 
I'm tryna make this gold, y'all tryna start fighting
And to me that's motivation, I ain't saying that I'm liking it
I'm just saying if it's there I might as well get insight from it
And it's crazy, I just noticed that I can't lose
When it's bad I'm still good, when it's good I cruise
I'm sorry that it all happens at the expenses of you
But you can't stop my grind, imma do what I do
100
I'm tryna make it from the mil to the summit
I heard it's all lonely but the top is my abundance
So I'll bring who I want I don't care what the rules say
Chillin above the competition straight playing 2k
That dream will never fade in
That's why I always stay in
Cuz I wanna see the day where I can say that I made it
And they love me
I see the finish line so I'm running
Got a talent and a dream and you can't take that from me
No obstacles can stun me
I don't care about who judge me
I got my mind set so just tell the top I'm coming
Cause I am

Mugging

Heart thumping at a rapid beat,
***** running down to my feet.
Getting mugged, gun in face,
the one **** day, I left home my mace.
He wants my money or my life,
wishing I had some kind of knife.
Slowly going for my wallet,
tears dripping like a leaky faucet.
Getting anxious, he ***** his gun,
should I submit or should I run.
Then I kicked him in the *****,
watching him as he slowly falls.
Grabbed the gun from his hand,
asked for his money, as he started to stand.
He said please mister, I'm out of work,
I said who cares you stupid ****.
He showed me his wallet, which was bare,
I could smell his **** in his underwear.
I told him to turn around and walk away,
he said till I get your money, I must stay.
Had no choice but to shoot him dead,
two bullets in his brainless head.
From the gun, wiped off my prints,
limped home like I had shin splints.
Went home and took a shower,
felt kinda bad as my soul became sour.
Closed my eyes and only saw red,
maybe I should have forced him to run instead.
I hate living in a state of misery,
from that day on, I felt kinda jittery.
Both of us at one point begged for mercy,
just a typical day in north New Jersey.

My wit was stolen
in the shattered morning --
darkness robbed me of meaning
with its long, empty knives.

I search my pockets
for its incandessence,
turning out only absence
and a deep crushing sigh.

In the distance I see
others laughing, tossing
wit back and forth
like a shuttle **** at a garden party
sparkling, forceful, levity, bright.

I brush myself off
and walk towards them.

I turned on the news today,
And realized
We live in a really ****** world

Four robberies
A ****
A ******

Oh hey look;
There's someone supporting cancer
Oh wait;
It's because their baby died

More robberies
A mugging
Child abuse

And I learned all this,
Before the first commercial break

This is what the news teaches kids:
We live in a really ****** world

Yet we wonder
*Why more kids are depressed

WORDS GANG STALKERS DO NOT WANT TO HEAR

The first, of course, is the “G” word. No explanation necessary.

GANG STALKING

VIGILANTE

The gang stalking recruits are of course being recruited into a cult for the purpose of carrying  out vigilante activity. As we all know the same authorities who “do not have the resources” to protect you from burglars, gang intimidation, vandalism, mugging, ****** assault, etcetera, are not short of resources to deal with the least whiff of vigilantism, as people desperately try to protect themselves. The recruiters of course do not wish their recruits to be reminded that they are engaging in vigilante behaviour, so I remind them at every opportunity.

CULTS

The methods the recruiters use are classic cult methods. The recruit is told lies while their emotions are manipulated; they are not told the true agenda of the cult they have been tricked into joining; they are given targets to hate and vent their frustrations on; they are enslaved and over time leached of all their resources; their children will also be indoctrinated and used. People know joining a cult is a bad thing. So at all costs the recruiters wish to keep the idea of cults away from their recruits. Again, I make a point of reminding them.

CON ARTISTS

Another word/concept the recruiters want the recruits to forget. Again, another rich source of conversation with a gangstalker.

COVERT WAR
A major tool in the gangstalkers weaponry is successfully keeping the practice of gang stalking a secret. Most people not being stalked and many who are have never heard the term gangstalking and do not know what it means – a major Orwellian coup. Getting the word out is a major difficulty. From this point of view the words – covert war – are hated by gang stalkers. Both words, and especially in combination attract peoples notice and naturally induce them to read further.

FAIR GAME (Scientology)

Remember the film “Fair Game”. Odd title don’t you think when the story line had nothing to do with Scientology. The story based on fact about the betrayal of a CIA agent betrayed by her own government.

Gang stalkers do not like mention of Fair Game because the methods of Fair Game and gang stalking are identical. The existence of Fair Game tactics are acknowledged, but the response of authorities to gang stalking is to assert dogmatically that gang stalking does not exist and any who claims it does need the help of a psychiatrist.

MAFIA

The authorities do not wish people to be reminded of the Mafia. Many gang stalking methods and Mafia methods are identical, particularly the diverse rackets both gang stalkers and Mafia engage in. Infiltration of legitimate businesses, exploitation of labour, housing scams, protection money, and controlling people such as medical personnel who can make ” mistakes” in medical treatment, or an office worker who can “lose” or corrupt private data.

STASI

If the STASI were not the creators of Zerzetsen, they were the world’s foremost practitioners – a massive state spying apparatus which created as many spies as citizens. Gang stalking and Zerzetsen are identical.

dailykos.com/story/2010/10/12/909826/-ZERZETSEN-TORTURE…

WORDS THAT GANG STALKERS WANT EVERYONE TO HEAR

SCHIZOPHRENIA

After the primary objective of gang stalkers to keep awareness of gang stalking from public knowledge is the secondary objective to ensure that if anyone comes across the concept of gang stalking or targeted individuals it will be immediately linked with insanity. The purpose of gaslighting behaviour is to make the person on the receiving end look insane.

Why can't I disrespect her situation and utilize manipulation!!!? 
****!!! 
(Agitation) 
How can I make her lacerate
Leaving him to ******* 
While her and I gravitate
(Aggravation) 
Am I wrong for trying to captivate? 
To cause a tragedy 
So that I can place her in my cavity 
Count on their delinquency 
So that I can hit the jackpot like treasury 
I must put a result to their destiny 
When I see their pictures 
My jaws quiver 
She needs to be hither 
I'm thinking I should be sly 
And slither 
Or should I be blatant and invite her to dinner?
Right in the face of her mister 

Excuse me ma'am 
Have you ever seen otters afloat the waters? 
When I see it in my studies 
I always get cuddly
I have a California king with only blankets to cover me 
I have no buddy 
I have friends 
But no ones lovely 
Can we hover the lake 
Holding hands so that we won't 
Drift away 
You will be cute as the otters 
I don't know why would I even bother 
No groom; I'm all scruffy 
I look ok alone
But you gone make me look ugly 

Or 

Come here 
Hug me 
Is this your hubby? 
That's why his shoulders is shrugging?
And his face is mugging?
He know if you escape his disgrace and come to my cubby 
He'll be in the hole 
Ain't that right man? (Directed to him)
What's your name? 
Stan? 
Hey how are you doing Stanley 
I'm digging your girl like my last name is Yelnats 
And I'm trying not to disrespect 
But it's testing 
You have the great big book of everything 
And a queen who can be on the cover of King because she's **** 
But look at you 
How'd you do it? 
Here you go take my number down and dial whenever he's around so he can know where you're about to go 
See you later 
Which approach is better? 

I like both 
Should I be smooth or rude? 
I have to make up my mind soon so that I can make my move

The music was good
I asked the DJ if he had my song
No
But the music was good
There was a shapely bartender with a shaved head
And a long flannel shirt that made it sometimes look as if she
Wasn't wearing any pants
And she wasn't
She was wearing shorts
I asked the DJ if maybe he had a certain other song
No
But the music was still good
There was a smaller room where you could smoke indoors
And a foreign guy with a shaved head
Foreign guy with a shaved head: Hey let me know if I'm in your space or something.
Me: Huh?
Foreign guy with a shaved head: You bumped into me so if I'm in your space or something...
                                                                                                                                                         let me know
It is not my space
I don't own the bar
It is the bar's space
Or perhaps it is the government's space
Or god's space
Or like an alien supercomputer's space
But it is not mine
Or his
I think about picking a fight with this guy
Or letting him kick my *** more likely
So we could share the space
More effectively

I ask the DJ if maybe possibly he had a certain song by chance
No
But the music was still pretty good
There was a girl with a pretty dress and a head full of ****
I patted her head to watch her hair go up and down
She noticed and we got to talking
About musical theatre
A song came on and she said she would meet me on the dance floor
The song came and went and she did neither
I asked the DJ if he had a song I knew he'd have
Yes
The music wasn't so good because it was a boring song
That I had heard many many times before
I danced with a friend
And a sweaty man danced between us
Reeling and mugging for his audience of friends
He picked up my friend and put him down again
To the crowd's delight
I stole his hat
Right off his head
And my friend and I left the bar
We got in the car laughing
And drove away
And the music was good

Rode the dog. From podunk to new.york

My introdutory mugging was all that I dreamed of and more.

32 stitches and a mild concussion

Bright lites big city goin to my head.

Got a job running #s and a rap sheet too


What's a guy going to handle when his rent is due


Bright lights big city going to my head
I don't care cause you don't. Care

Yellow Brick Road
Land of OZ
Lion scared
Scarecrow crazy
TinMan struggling
Wizard gizmo mugging.

Homeless man
Traveling man
Nomadic man
Had to go.

Left more in Kansas
Than he brought
******* feelings
Totally out of control.

All that searching
Never ever knew
Garden of Eden
Mona Lisa dancing
Lake Wilson trancing
Nomad confused
Gone distracted.

4 years drifting
Always on the road
Never realizing
Never knowing
Never analyzing
Never caring
For what did he know.

TinMan found his heart
TinMan lost his heart
Nomad down
******* Yellow Brick Road.

I see two fire trucks pass each other
going opposite directions.
As I’m trying to think of a clever metaphor
for poor planning
I remind myself that at least one family
is standing in a thigh high pile of fine ash
that was their home
just an hour ago.
Maybe two families.
These thoughts and others haunt me when I’m pulled from my duck footed sidewalk reverie
by a lottery ticket stuck in the riff-raff that separates
Gateway Ave from the parking lot of the Nervous Hospital.
It is laid bare like a mugging victim;
crumpled up and inches from the gutter.
That was someone’s dream
just a day ago.
Think I’ll cross the street-
give that homeless vet a dollar.
It’s my last one.
My house has fleas, but
it ain’t on fire.

little children are abondoned by thier parents,                                                  left to raise each other on their own,  learn to survive in the streets,            forced to live under the influence of drugs and earn a living from mugging.                                                         ­                                                    Mothers forced to labour with children on thier backs,                         they rather sleep with empty stomachs sacrifising only for their children.                                                        ­                                                    Man begging for food,they nolonger know how to give.                          They wear shreaded clothes and survive from the tiny bread crumps thrown into trash cans.                They sleep under the fierce weathers, the wind cutting through thier skin and all that keep them warm is plastic bags.                                                            ­                                 What ever happened to my country is surely brutal South Africa can never be the same again unless we change it.

Sadness comes in all flavours and hits harder some days than others.
It makes a sky darker and the sun further away like long lost brothers.
Sadness can make your very soul tremble at the break of dawn
it can make your heart burn when you know that she is gone.
Sadness plays no favorites, it gives no special odds or choice
it jumps up at a moment's notice and screams with a bitter voice.
Sadness is what we try to avoid, what we all try to escape
like a corner mugging or a vicious painful ****.
It's out there, lurking in the darkness, calling out our name
pretending that its happiness and trying to be the same.
No warning is sufficient no alarm gives us enough time
there is no chance to skirt the pain or miss the crime.
Sadness is the anxiety that kills our soul and heart
now we wait to see just when the old car rolls in to start.

barely it was swaying terrifically in cotton wind of sharp niggling wafers that flummox specially the growling infant sea, this lake, where i am by and satting with my soft particular femme who's metal slithers from her very roundest nostrils glinting rather unobtrusive and stubbornly silver. and jousting by in meager dollops college children blatantly. a basic scent of nonsense huddles on the 2's and 3's (or mayhaps more) they slant upon the dappled lazy soil reticent and uncouthly tread upon with flats little souls. their heads are fat with gullible churning knowledge. they farted from the dusted books. that stately chord of mugging music. that lays in bricks and mortared sighs. on the hillest of tops over looking the cordial bay.

I strolled among lavendills
in the pithy piney plodding hills
bearing the brunt of burdensome *******
as I garnished  grins of whippoorwills.

On a plateau-ish plain  of prickly peet
I felt the bog beneath my feet
tickling my toes with ****** tainted thorns,
I remembered gnarling days, and stood forlorn.

Pickled poesy pomagroups
foretold of future ladle scoops
in caligrating loop the loops in styles
reminding me of marching troops.

In shifting shylock shapes of time
with ripping radishes of rhyme
I began my daring dew descent
to the lowly muppet mugging climes.

When, on sordid stony steppes I stood,
amid the brash and boorish wood,
wenting where I was, I brought
a hinting hackle pang of good.

HE. IS:
A whirlwind of absolute rage and apathy
Cruising through life like a pitfall
Without a place to land.
All these problems, all these horrors,
Mugging, ******, ******, genocide,
Making people pay to live,
Making people believe money is the root of all evil.

When I met you, I wanted to dominate you.
And you wanted that. Is that really right?
Because now all I want is to show you affection.

We would take each other as ******.
We must take each other as we are.
I love you for every single thing you ****** up.
I love you for every single thing you did right.
I love you for understanding I am a child.
And so are you.
We are children, wandering and wondering
What is it we're going to do?
"I can't take care of myself!"
Neither can I! But I can take care of you.
Let's eat.
Let's enjoy it.
Let's not feel disgusting.

Because we're beautiful.
And putridity is wondrous.

I wanted you to hit me so hard.
I wanted your lips to break in mine.
Your teeth are wise, your tongue is buzzing and fluttering.
Your eyes, red and itching,
Burning and running black down your cheeks
Your pupils so large,
Your irises glowing
The whites were just water
Water and salt
And pain

And agony
For him
For you
For me
For our parents and that girl I met when I was ONLY NINE
And alcohol and war and self-loathing
And lack of confidence.

We will cry for everyone we can not fix
And it will be the best thing in the world
Because when we're fixed, we're going to be real adults.
Geniuses.

I hope you don't have to leave.
Because you are strong enough to do this yourself.

And no matter where we go...
No matter what God is watching
(if there is one), I love you.

And ******, I love myself.

He's the cigarette that makes me want to take up smoking.
Because he'd be so good with a cup of coffee on a lazy Saturday morning.
He's every line I've crossed out trying to put to words how I'd like to breathe his poison
Over and over again.
Until he's nothing but a pile of embers and my lungs are black with ash.
He's two strong arms hovering around the waists of girls who already know they're beautiful,
Cause he doesn't have time for girls who don't realize it.
He's a tall, strong whiskey on the rocks.
Sharp as a knife in a New York City mugging,
Cool as the Los Angeles breeze,
Deadly as the Arizona summer.
All I want is to inhale deeply and let him slowly
Stop my breath.

Here I am
another Saturday
I've woken up
with a smokers cough
heaving
at my lungs
like a slow roasting
fire
I've been
smoking
more cigars
lately

Usually seven
would last me
about a week.
Now that many can
only hold it down for
three days
maybe four

I drag myself out of bed
fumble around searching
for my glasses and of course
the phone
I manage to
slug myself to
the bathroom
pop an
Adderall
make my way
out to the porch
I light up a smoke
the cold wind
strikes my
exposed body parts
giving me the chills
**** Texas weather
it's either too hot
or too cold
kind of like me

Still

it doesn't stop
my routine of
having a few hits
my will power
is a slave
to the
rituals.

As I sit there
mean mugging
the cloudy but
still bright sky
I feel the Adderall
kick in
I'm ready to
tackle
the list of chores


With a toothbrush
and some foam cleaner
I scrub
at the bathroom sink
each little blob of
tooth paste spit
gets focused on
and scrutinized
just as I do
with my insecurities

Tossing a foaming
cleanser bomb
in the toilet
it volcanoes up to the brim
kinda like my emotions
have been
these past
few weeks

I scrub at that for a while
living with two boys
can cause **** to go
and get
in
to
everything

I hand wash all of
my black stockings
in the tub
rinse and
wring them out
and hang them
one by one
on the shower pole

There
as they drip
getting ready
to be worn
through the
work week
I sit on the
edge of the tub
and write this poem
despite all the ****

it was still a good Saturday morning

There's a town somewhere up north off of route 54
It's cheap to live there, but I wouldn't recommend it
It's streets run with greed, ****** and sin
The people there are devoid any sense of ethics
It will leave you all shocked and breathless
Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"

The mayor has been in office for six terms
And in his cabinet are members of the mob
Whose fronts are local mom and pops
Where junkies like to hang out
While a mugging of an eighty four year old widow takes place around the block
Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"
       -Tommy Johnson

The youth are all in gangs that **** each other
Delinquent dropouts doing drive by's
Defiling untouched regions between innocent women's thighs
Girls making appointments for back alley coat hanger abortions
As some hate group constructs homemade bombs

Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"

Diseases and food shortages
Rotten government cheese and unpaid mortgages
Call the department of health and human services
Life here is unbearable mercilessness  

Poverty and violence
Money and bullets keep those who might talk silent
Here it has come down to a simple science
The spineless **** the non-compliant for their defiance and they lay lifeless by the hands of those who commit viscous acts so mindless

Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"

You may ask, "where is God or the police?"
They're doing their bi-weekly patrol
And they're both on big brother's private payroll
There is now law and order in this contaminated area
It's an unkempt, repugnant pustule in the middle of the caked-on face of America

Welcome to the neighborhood
Where you board up your windows and doors then double check if they're locked
Where you can always hear some one screaming
"Stop"
"Stop"