Once On The L

Once on the L
the conductor said
'passengers be aware of packages that don't belong'
I was too stoned
of course paranoid
I could always stand clear of closing doors
but i ain't no John Rambo

Then a panhandler came
he said 'we all make mistakes'
to help him please get back to his feet
you never know when you may slip
and being so stoned the consequence were thoughts
about the logic of cause and effect
plus the stand I had to take


No I don't worry
How could I worry
I was still rambling
about the two dollar fee

We Could Be Just Friends

We are getting nowhere no
we are getting nowhere
We are trying just in vain
cause we ain't getting nowhere.

I'm no good for you I know
cause I'm always in rubbles
and you could find some one new
Who'll save you from your sorrows
I'm no good for you I know
why would you go through that trouble
when you could find some one good
Good for all your tomorrows

But we could be just friends
we could be just friends
though is a mistake I know
we already have began

I Didn't Die At 24

Had I've been the son of someone who gave a name
Maybe with less discretion I would be the same
But no one asked for me no one asked for me

Half educated jubilated I am mostly drunk
I am the man who takes my failures in my blemished soul
But no one sings with me obnoxious as only me
No one asked for me I'm not my father's seed

And I didn't die at 24, my scars and I we are just getting old

One Hour Ago Today

With less commotion than the previous time, the entrance to the birth soil seemed less welcome and more artificial, more expected and less prepare. Bound to maybe never leave again it seemed only natural to say fewer words than spoken to. It felt like all the oceans were being spilled over the land, sometimes easy sometimes harsh but it rain constantly with no mercy breaks. Where would one find inspiration other than in ones own narrated tragedies, I hated it when tragedies were dropped off at my footsteps when I was ready to find my summer box underneath a bookshelf. Walls of humidity on the spine of the ether caging me, fencing, and scolding me.
First Rejection then Pity then Forgiveness then I don't know of any more stages maybe Obsession once more with a kick of experience with all but coincidence on a calculated new Stand.
Furniture of old with a white Buddha entertained the center of a glass table held with wooden miniature pillars, the Buddha was to be found underneath the custom carved glass. Left over balloons of a good hearted man's birthday celebration were left scatter over the room, bragging about their knowledge of the bad Feng shui they brought. Then the white Buddha statue came to life and never losing its sincere smile walked towards me, at first I did not move then I panic but fear conquered my body. As it approached more it climbed the empty plastic chair in front of mine then positioned it self behind my laptop on the table were I wrote down all my thoughts. then it said.
"What can you do about those balloons? For me."
"You're the Buddha in the world of the living" I said nervously.
"That's not an answer for me but rather an observation for yourself, the balloons. I want then out of here" he replied
It was four thirty eight on a Monday, lights were on and the batteries were at 30% left on my computer and this trance is not a trance when I'm sober, this trance is not psychedelic when I'm sober, this nonsense is too honest and delirium does not cripple but infuriates because I'm not the white Buddha's remover of balloons, enlightenment in my insanity, enlightenment in all insanity.
"Enlightenment in all Insanity" I said.
"No, just disobedience in yours"
"my what? insanity?"
"The balloons I want them remove now, no enlightenment no nirvana just do this for me" he said his smile never lost a centimeter.
No poetry no narration just randomness, I am not reason but a motive for inflation, scales, polls, and advertisement. The unattended overgrown grass in the old sterile swamp where i had gone to smoke a few cigarettes had turned to the dead Indians asking them not to stop their rain dancing in the afterlife.
"what do you know about the dead Indians and their rain dancing you demanding Buddha"
"they serve a purpose. Go on and write lines about my one liners, on the meaning of purpose, on brevity or marathons, write on the insignificance of removing balloons from a living room, the accuracy of a over living room but be done with it and remove those balloons, Do think too much of my being here and why I don't take care of those balloons myself, there is always air and explanations but you could always do without one and not the other. There is no threats or more no nos in upcoming lines. Finger tips to the keyboard"
I am randomness and remover of balloons for a white Buddha. I am a good measurement of contradictions and vulnerability still clenching at my childhoods fence. When recycling bursts in, there is little room for standards or criticism, only flow and desperation re-use inspiration.
Those of you who can't overdose in spirituality will call it cult, those of you who can't be serene in equality will need a lord. So I intend to end the perpetual reconstruction of the person who use to be me, for we are only trying to romanticized our peonage existence.

The Times Used To Be With Me

Hear me saying hear me asking, when is it gonna be my
turn to peel outdated shields mourning my flag
The times used to be with you
in times when it was all you

A censored hello in the crowded check in desk
scolds my humor cause I said “happy jewlidays”
The times Used to be with me
In times when it was all me

My TV watching has me right where I'm gonna be
when I'm 50 I doubt 60, I'll wait and see
The times used to be with me
In times when it was all me


No one has to get it right to buy what I wont have
I'm grateful for the caffeine that push the words that say
you bore me
pushed the words that said you bored
honest words that say honest words that said you bore me

Condemned B-Side

Everybody gets to love you at least once
while I have felt like a condemned B-side
a decent crafted song, yes song
who spoke highly of you you you you you
on a playlist soon to be put to use.

I won't allow myself to admit my true intentions
maybe on a shuffle you'll recognized our situation
In a song, yes song
who spoke highly of you you you you you
on a playlist soon to be put to use.


The mere mention of your name brights up my day
though only see you here and then I don't complain

Twelve Bar Blues

With these hands what could I brew
a sober ocean to drown in your pool
where I couldn't gamble
short syllables that stumble
of course in a twelve bar blues.
A dozen numbers to time it right
second handed lefties to be precise
Barring minor sevens
and the freedom to be clever
I never set out to lose.
With a theme its an easier role
to be a wheel on a downhill slope
where everything has been branded
and creation fades in boundaries
on an aging plateau.
At the vent horizon is where I thought
I could park in letters til I was no more
In an accessible celestial
cradle for all our questions
I was left with my twelve bar blues.

Cut and pasted on a godly Wednesday when I wasn't ashed
When frankensteining always count on virgin unstiched luck
to bring together numbers and hands
with awful grammar in the name of art.

Run Into Your Maybes

Battery One Dollar got drunk before the show
everyone headed towards the door.

Battery One Dollar went down to record
the songs just sounded a bit off.

Battery One Dollar has gotten too old
We'll never make it in this world.

But we'll hide ourselves in the kindness of your hearts
the one place we got,
To run run around run into your maybes
Run run around run run run baby.