I may never be a
Dickens, Lawrence, Keats, or Brodsky
I may never be a
Ginsberg, Kerouac or Hemingway
...
Smoking Marijuana?
Well it's a bit like jazz
You only listen to it to make you happy,
give yourself an up
...
arrive at your scene
with the poison already in my veins
A quarter to Nine
with the light still glowing
...
The nights being itself tonight
With the wind blowing against
The shutters that cover the holes
And there behind those I lay awake
...
When I leave this town
I'm not sure how I will feel.
I do want to explore
the Pacific coast
...
From time to time
You feel the urge to read
At the bank
Of The River Bed
...
Riding through country roads today
the biting cold on my cheeks and arms
I know it is fall
the leaves are starting to fall onto the groung
...
I Haven't shaved in days before tonight
And how fulfilling and uplifting this event was
Even though i may have cut myself and felt dumb
In the end I felt good
...
this kid told me I was dead
and at first I didn't know what to do
I was clueless
Then I got mad
...