There's a letter at my momma's house, came with a floded flag. It say: Right now, I'm coming home in a body bag. It's a pride and a pain that are one and the same. It's a burning cigarette, it's a horrible dream. There's a man in an office who's going through files and a woman who watches television. And she doesn't get the jokes told be late nite talk show hosts, but for some reason she laughs anyway. There's this soap in my bathroom, and it's all covered in a hairs. There's this hope in my brain, and it's all covered in prayers. There's a girl i this town who doesn't know I exist. There's a wounded sense of pride and a pain in my fist. There's 12 empty bottles on this table tonight. There's 4 lungs on fire and 4 burning eyes. And something will explode, and someone will cry. And someone will run out and never turn around. There's a park in this city where I used to go, but now it's covered with fences and cops and lightposts. And I'd never go back even if it was the same, but it kills me to know that it's changed. There's these kids who have dreams. There's these dreams that will grow. Until they get so goddamn big that they explode. And what's left in the smoke and the falling debris is grownups like them and losers like me. Yeah. Tonight let's go walking down Clark Street and look at the new buildings that we've never seen. We'll stop at the bar and pass out on the floor and tomorrow we'll forget everything and replay these days again.

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100 Resolutions

Where have I been all your life? Sitting on fences. A novocaine for all the senses. Another year will pass us by. Making sense of nothing in defense of something. I laughed too late and dug myself into a grave. This year I'll try not to think too much. This year I'll try to stand up for myself. This year I'll live like I've never lived before. This is my year for sure. Another stupid clumsy story. More accidental aspirations. Another explosion of silence. I think I'm going deaf. Or maybe I'm just hearing less. This year I'll try to listen to myself. I wonder where you'll be bringing in the new year. As midnight clocks are singing good chance I'll be slobbering somewhere. Probably pass out wasted and sleep until the smoke clears. Vague memories of midnight flash in time to morning sunlight. Wake up knowing you'll never be there. I've got 100 resolutions. But I've got no solutions. I've got one song I write 100 ties. And only a dozen or so rhymes. This year I'll try not to drink so much. This year I'll try to stand up straight. This year let's live like we've never lived before. This is our year for sure.

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There's No Place Like A Stranger's Floor

Teeth ripped out of gums hit sparkling gray squares of concrete. Screams in technicolor pain. Doubled over spitting blood. The freezing rain. Never felt so good to wake up in some town on some floor to some sound. Voices rattle through my veins. You're slowly imploding, your worlds are corroding. Please let it work itself out. We've got time to melt. You haven't said a single thing. A six month recurring dream. Oil stains glisten in the light. Fluorescent yellow blue and red. It's not worth talking when everything goes left unsaid. The freezing rain slants down in icy sheets on some street where someone is cursing what they've done. And walking quickly toward the train, cold and dejected in a brightly lit steel frame. Your eyes are a cloudy morning. My lips are this sealed letter. Ineptly yours. Sincerely sorry. It's something you feel in the sole out of your shoe on a loud city bus on some aching afternoon.

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Hey, What Time Is 'Pensacola: Wings Of Gold' On Anyway?

It's killing time. The TV''s on with a bottle of shit. Buried Needle. The record player has forgotten not to spin, so, you're feeling useless? Well, the bidding starts at $19.95. And while the survey says 'cheers and applause' another hour dies. Jacking off again. 40 oz in the fridge. Have these dreams put to sleep. So call me up and tell me something. I'm dying to believe. I dunno. I don't care. I just sit and stare now. I don't think. I just listen to the drone of this old being. (I just listen to the voice of this machine) Friday night, steppin out and talkin to the same fucking people. "So, how's your family?" "How was school?" Conversation strain. Force endurance from this class. It's 11:45. Two more hours lumber past and I feel like I tried. (Sight of profound apathetic despair) Fucking off again. Talking to this bitch, She hates me. I hate her. So shut me up and take me somewhere. I'm dying to leave.

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