soundtrack to the dark streets of decay

was at a place

open mic night

didn’t read

sat in back

drank

listened

 

acoustic guitars, vocalists

poets

words and lyrics

talking about their generation

or rebellious subculture

 

i left

more cause i needed a cigarette

stood with my toes

slightly over the sidewalk curb

and as i smoked

i never felt so alone

realizing i don’t belong

to a group, a movement

a cause, a generation

 

about as counterculture as i get

is that i don’t own a car in los angeles

not because i’m an environmentalist

i just don’t need to replace

an empty bottle in my hand

with car keys

 

but then i realized

i was simmering in the solace

of my singularity

and started walking

there is nothing i share

that anyone else would want

to partake in

rally around

identify with

make a cause

 

lately i cough a lot

pack a day

so i suck on cough drops

because that’s my solution

to too many cigarettes

 

the aftershave of addiction

that really doesn’t make

me smell any better

 

compulsory education taught me letters

that i now line up on a page

i always sat in the back of class

and my high school english teacher

learned to cover her ass

with the clip board she held in one hand

any time she had her back turned to me

because she learned the only lines

i memorized were the seams of her slacks

 

i would often ditch school

to sit by the railroad tracks

and read poetry by leonard cohen

or rod mckuen

 

the hardest thing about being an artist

is how you always seem to be a disappointment

when you’re young

you rectify the rejections by calling for revolution

if you linger long enough to be old

you realize it’s nobody’s fault but your own

the real cause is art

it will always set you apart

from those who don’t get

it’s all you want to do

they think writing poetry meaningless

while i think that anything other

than writing poetry is insincere

 

when i sat by those railroad tracks

i use to romanticize the hobo life

but as an adult i’ve been so poor

i would have seven dollars a week

to buy food at the dollar store

i got so malnourished my skin turned gray

and my belly was swollen like

a starving child in famine africa

 

as kristofferson said,

“freedom’s just another word

for nothing left to lose”

being cold and hungry

is not very romantic

 

so anyway

at one a.m.

tomorrow is already today

congress can pass a law

that doesn’t reflect

the true character of the congressmen

but when you read sacred scripture

you are looking at

a photograph of the divine

and as i write each line

i realize my poems

are nothing more than a selfie

 

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