by 
I’m bringing back the Thursday Poems. This was printed in the Outcast about a year ago.
Outcast
I’ve never worked as a bike messenger.
Never delivered any packages for money.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
I have rode around with rather substantial amounts of drugs on my person.
On, as “in” a backpack.
That was for money.
A pay to play program, if you will.
But, running legal documents across town,
never done it.
No motive and no opportunity.
Each the same.
Each of their own.
Each other.
Some guys have all the breaks.
Some guys don’t have anything that’s broken.
Two smoke tinged,
dusty hotel room beds,
barley slept in.
Build and used for indoor workouts,
not restful nights of slumber.
Hit it and quit.
In and out.
Can I get a room by the hour?
What do you mean you’re not running that kind of hotel?
More ice in my drink,
if you could.
It separates me from the savages.
If only for a fleeting moment.
We all do what we can.
Yes.
Yes, indeed.
Like two ships passing in the night.
Heard that phrase applied to two couples entwined in a drunken embrace one night.
Passing in the night, my ass.
More like two ships helplessly grounded on some god forsaken reef only to be overwhelmed by the sea and drown by the light of day.
The shadows,
the darkened moments of our lives.
The opposite of life,
darkness brings its own benefits package to the table.
What you can do for me?
No, what I can do for you, good sir.
What I can do for you.
And then we’re all on the hook, aren’t we?
In one way or another.
Then,
in the end,
we all get drawn in on the line.
by 
Someone needs to either take a nice long ride, get drunk, get laid ~or~ get a script for Prozac.
I ain’t mentioning any names mind you.
I’ll take #1, #2 and #3 please.
so fresh and so clean clean, anit nobody as dope as me now, so fresh and so clean clean..
I prefer your bitching about the war. remember that? there’s a fucking war going on. kids are dying. fuck.
anger and aggression=war..
“I’ll take #1, #2 and #3 please.”
Now here’s the big question.
All at the same time ??
Now that would clear up your sinuses. And result in at least 2 tickets from the local constables. ha ha
A poem??? How can that be a poem?!
I see no mention of any man from Nantucket nor do I see
any reference to an appendage so long that said man could suck it.
If you’re gonna class this place up you need to try harder, but why bother really.
You can’t polish a turd, unless you bronze it, but alas, you can’t bronze a turd either. I already asked…they said they prefer baby booties…then when you produce the turd and beg them they call the police.
(pshhh, those Christian Bookstore clerks are so smug)
Parker! Your effin killin’ me over here.
…dear mr big jonny…your order of frozen quiche, chardonnay & scented candles has been shipped & you should receive it in time for the thursday nite poetry gatherings at your abode…how nice to hear that you’re bringing culture to that simply hostile desert environment…
…we here at “fou fou fixtures” are always ready to assist you w/ your needs…