una sartir de mentiras

you told me

you loved



going out for the show

& the biggest lie

of course

you loved me

I should’ve known

when I saw

there were no


sound system

your entertainment

came from reality shows


dross on tv

any where

but within you

with me

poor choices made

tip toe

caught in her fly paper

she wanted me to go

& I did not yet

want to leave

intuition feeling in my bones

someone else was gonna show

as her eyebrows got higher

voice shifted from low

& sure enough

just as I turned the corner

in he came

it’s a sick feeling

to be right in these ways

churning the gut

head spinning to know

all of this for nothing

more poor choices made

care poured onto barren ground

the all of it & that

they said they were looking for talent

while I was looking another way

something that might work to capture me

I got the high priests of poetry

understood the all of it & that

the rhymes they were setting out to do

while I was searching the streets

listening to what they called low lifes

spitting out their heart felt poison bars

crazy at what had been done to them

poverty pain prison working blues

the nearest I got were the war poets

& even then the lines they sung

were distant detached highbrow lost

I was looking for words that hummed

sang of me & you walking broke

unable to eat the high yellow sunset

worrying about the shoes on our feet

hanging on in until tomorrow comes

but that don’t sell in the bookstores

draw in the crowds make fortunes

help make my teachers & me to meet


the cat couldn’t move

unless we promised him

booze women drugs

of any kind

that did not matter

just the promise alone

could get his ass out of bed

& upright the women

flocked to him

which creates its own jealousy

in the life of a band

fucks with your head

but the man could wail

spank that plank

get the crowd on their feet

& we according to him

were pulled along in his wake

so we went along his way

for a little while longer

knowing full sure

those appetites that ego

the gigs would end

we’d be designated

just one more band

doomed to fail

popeye the painting thief

worked in the big city airport

handling freight & forward baggage

& I remember well

his eyes bright talking of stuff

the goods he handled everyday

& like all of us he was casual

with the things he didn’t own

& with those bright eyes on mine

he pondered out loud how to gain these

make them his & his alone

ransom a painting for the big bucks

we fantasied on cut out notes

fake phone numbers dead drops

how to do a pick up of cash

like in the movies not get stopped

& I heard no more for a while

until one day the local rag

lying on the bar I saw

a picture of popeye with a strapline

local mariner caught in ransom sting

given two years prison time

& I wondered how that might affect

those bright eyes shining on mine

try a new beginning again

some usual

tired fucked up thing driving too long

stopping dog boned with fatigue

taking the first room I could get

to find the hotel rented rooms to whores

being unsurprised we fitted right in

drinking beers at the bar in the heat

barkeep leering at her

& recognising I no longer cared anymore

stumbled stairs asleep waking at three

finding the bed empty but me

& the energy to go find was not there

in the early morning over juice

she told me she woke needed a drink

the guys downstairs were kind nicer than me

while I thought of the miles to come

counting before I could finally set her free

take some rest kindness just be

wanted the end of this journey soon

& maybe set out my wares my self

to try a new beginning again


no matter how hard you tried

to escape

your open occluded ocean

cesspit of rough seas

you would be thrown back in


you were a tiddler

no matter your protests

at the inhumanity there

hiding just below the surface

all they heard

cops teachers social workers


were the half mute wails

of prey

on the loose

the next motel

all I ever wanted to do

was walk down the dirt road

I saw through a car window

somewhere between

California & Arizona

a single mail box by the blacktop

to be dropped off by a friend

walking the last few miles

dusted in thirty degree heat

holding all I owned in my grip

to our cabin base of the hills

surrounded by trees & quiet

where you would be waiting for me

wanting my news word of the world

to hold me again


I drove on to the next motel