What It’s Like

Jethro: Claims to be a career criminal. Claims he’d rather freeze outside than to be back behind the wall. He is currently homeless.

We’ve all seen a man at the liquor store beggin’ for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange
He asks a man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes
“Get a job, you fuckin’ slob” is all he replies

God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes
‘Cause then you really might know what it’s like to sing the blues
Then you really might know what it’s like
Then you really might know what it’s like
Then you really might know what it’s like
Then you really might know what it’s like

Mary got pregnant from a kid named Tom who said he was in love
He said, “Don’t worry about a thing, baby doll, I’m the man you’ve been dreamin’ of”
But three months later he say he won’t date her or return her calls
And she swear, “God damn if I find that man I’m cuttin’ off his balls”
And then she heads for the clinic and she gets some static walkin’ through the door
They call her a killer, and they call her a sinner, and they call her a whore

We’ve all seen a man at the liquor store beggin’ for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mange
He asks a man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes
“Get a job, you fuckin’ slob” is all he replies

……………….

I’ve seen a rich man beg
I’ve seen a good man sin
I’ve seen a tough man cry

I’ve seen a loser win
And a sad man grin
I heard an honest man lie

I’ve seen the good side of bad
And the down side of up
And everything between

I licked the silver spoon
Drank from the golden cup
Smoked the finest green

I stroked the fattest dimes
At least a couple of times
Before I broke their heart

You know where it ends
Yo, it usually depends
On where you start

I knew this kid named Max
He used to get fat stacks
Out on the corner with drugs

He liked to hang out late
He liked to get shit faced
And keep the pace with thugs

Until late one night
There was a big gun fight
Max lost his head

He pulled out his Chrome .45
Talked some shit
And wound up dead

And now his wife and his kids
Are caught in the midst
Of all of this pain

You know it comes that way
At least that’s what they say
When you play the game

God forbid you ever had to wake up to hear the news
‘Cause then you really might know what it’s like to have to lose
Then you really might know what it’s like

….. To have to lose… …..

Give Us Your Tired, Your Poor

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door! @emma lazarus/statue of liberty

Numbed Consent

Mold growing on mold

What a souvenir

I light a Marlboro Red and pretend to disappear into the seams of late show talk

On the screen, puppets for complacency dance…ever so near

I could fluff the pillow to a higher state

However comfortable, I could also, puncture what it is…

I stand for

in and out

out and about of this,

numbed consent

A catatonic, petrified

Gentrifying,

be safe…leave no trace

Bare ass, I lay down to stay up late

Searching the cushions for loose change to purchase an empty plate

Life is Bad by S.Lynne

Waste away to nothing in a dark dusty tomb.  Looking for the traces of what used to be a room.  Wipe away the blood from a tormented brow…Solve the wicked problem…never asking, how?  Rock the sinking vessel until it rest on the bottom.  Count the waves of water…  Don’t remember?  Forgot them.  Taste the stench of living on thin dimes and a dream.  Opening an ear to a painful, silent, scream.
Oh, life is BAD!  The worse I’ve ever had.

Ache and writhe in agony like a vise on aging bones.  Tar and acid drip from an ice cram cone.  Holding onto a wind that chases the hell.  Falling  in the darkness of an inner descending well.
Caress transparent night as a demon with a sword.  Speak with an eloquence… never saying a word.  Look into the clarity then erase it with the muck
Lying in a pool of consciousness.  No such thing as luck!

To being a beginner, to inventing the end.  To living with a stranger… never a friend.  Saddle slobbering beast… trouble is abound!  Ride the devil’s bronco never hit the ground.

Oh, life is BAD!  The worse I’ve ever had.

Winter in Oz

Broad is not the outreach.

In the land of weathered Oz.

An influx of flexible impossibility, written among the clouds and stars.

Nature’s waiting room of ‘days to come.’

Pastures green with ivory toppings.

Cowardly lions uttering out,

words of wisdom.

Forest of foresight…

Life in a northern town.

No pots of gold.

No yellow brick road.

Only tin-men made of leftover staples.

Stretching out a poor-man’s rotted maples.

Denim debutantes trading in their ruby reds for gathered treasures at the VFW’s lost and found.

It is a solemn road that leads to life in a northern town.