isn't even mine

how many miles driven or walked

in or out of town

whether or not champions

still exist in a city famous for shoes too

the blue water tower

is in Brockton

who cares you ask

someone will don’t doubt it

for a moment and no matter who fights

who and no matter the rules laid

down under the tire

and got bored with the story

at hand the designed

to depict right now as it is now

and if I am lucky it will

al still be here when I get back

how many miles before

someone sees

what I have been moving towards

all along just never knew until the dream

and brother says it might have been

an altered reality

and I think that is what life is made up

of many parts replaceable with any or all of the above

below the poem there will be a name

and it isn’t even mine… 

it's a pool table

a little too big

to get comfortable

without feeling as if

it might fall off the table

and it’s a pool table

it is his desk for the winter

porch becomes too cold

sliding off the edge

can’t find comfort

and can’t reach

the itch in his boot…

outlast the beat

writing to the beat in the air

everyday something to put in the air

the whole world is fighting

does anyone understand why

some might cry two three times a day

fool proof plan to wake

with an ‘everything’s ok’ attitude

maybe not perfectly authentic

but the strangely strong

bursting through

full moon thin clouds

writing to the beat finding the keys

no doubt lies in the song choice

the thoughts positively pushing

out a little longer stick around

until the end of another thought

smoking out the meditation

writing it out no matter where the beat goes

into another random back to back

live it right not wrong

how many coffee shops

how many night isolated

back to the beginning

pen poised to create

lines and curves

some see and some have no idea

what the sunset sky looked like tonight

writing at last to out last

the beat still put it in the air

for freedom of thought with words

two hours and twenty minutes later…

rasta snow

rasta snow storm

who knows when and

if spring will arrive now

chillin with bob

watching the snow

recording thought…

nuff herbs

another night

up in smoke

as they say

the clouds barely dent

the beauty of the scene

no one seems to mind

but it is eight degrees

when the air is still

colder as you

sit in the cold…

lights blink quick

switch it up the slightest bit
change colors
want it to stand out nothing out of the ordinary
sat on the edge of the bed
watching as someone drifts
in and out of sleep
the wind is out of control
tonight's ice storm
becoming snow
as the night wears on
and it's still early yet
especially for him
not even nine bells ringing
everything about the day
becomes a nine
the lights blink quick...

all night smoker

it could take awhile to bust out like a jukie

do wah diddy shitty city roll out I feel pukey

sick and throw up in the sink stink

drove off the road car ends up in the drink

until the eyes roll back attack

the bubonic san andreas klak klak klak

it could take forever to flip it like a strong arm

steady are you ready don't judge me

on how I feel and make some fetti

cross country letters fill notebooks

leave before the coat crooks still my shit

and it could take seven days to reach

out with the bubble pack cds and thoughts

white owl double wrap music

truth out there keep it in there

wrap it tight tonight

extra heavy cream makes

coffee extra light

the laughing won't stop

filled up the joker

eyes never close

always half shut

all night smoker

until all whites turn red

suddenly end up above a thirty inch bed...

before we get more

from the longest book
twenty-four pages
to the shortest one of them
inspiration pouring
out of the pen
let's get started
and end the war
start with the mind
no idea I would be opposed 
to a war going on most of my life
since seventy-five
and it's oh five
thirty years spread all over
it's the chill he can't
quite get rid of
the crick in the neck
the shake he can't resist
could never thread a needle
as this snow melts
almost time to point both hands to the four
turn the page
maybe he will clean the windows today
out which shouldhe see clearly
why does it seem as though
he has been forgotten again
no big surprise
just a lot of conscious time
watching this snow melt
before we get more...

shakes take over

it's the shakes

as if he hasn't eaten

yet today

but already

took the meds

to replace the missing

serotonin and too much light

will always mess with the eyes

he has no idea what he has done

up until this point he has been

steady standing

the just finished eating calmness

has taken over...

over night

it’s a 2^nd or 3^rd wind

blowing wishing

to remain in the basement

over night

knowing it’s entirely

too cold

joints start to hurt

pun intended

regardless of intent

war at the beginning

war at the end

and all throughout

the nightly ramblings

whatever they may mean

three point one four

or not

someone’s still awake

upstairs and he remains

two floors below

two pages left

to right and write on down

he spots the bowl

nearly empty bud barely burned

blaze burning in celebration

end of another thought

spilled creativity

on top of lines

keep the thoughts

in order brock town style

even though no one is around

to see or hear

what these thoughts

make him do circles

around his own subconscious

searching for a piece of truth…