Watchin my friends all die

Heads blown off

Carnage, carnage, carnage


Men behind desks

Plotting my death

Courage, courage, courage


Runnin through the jungles

Chasin goddamn gooks

Right, Left, Right


Comin out of nowhere

Shadows on your back

Night, bloody Night


Beans and motherfuckers

Birds overhead

Fly, fly, fly


Charlies in the bushes

Rabbits in the bag

Die, die, die


I miss my kids

I miss my wife

Home, home, home


But I still got two tours

On my motherfucking plate

I roam, roam, roam



This is a poem about a Vietnam soldier. Sorry for the racial slur (gook), I hated writing it, but if you’ve ever talked to any Vietnam soldier chances are you’ve heard that word multiple times and i wanted thr realism. My dad was in Vietnam, and not a day went by without that ugly word coming out of his mouth. 

Random Thoughts

The virgin mary is pullin singles out her g-string

Santa clause is doin rails of blow

The dodgers won the title

And I am feelin low


Mother Theresa is in jail for shoplifting

Water’s been replaced by pepsi

John Kennedy has dropped in for a quickie

With a one eyed tramp whistlin Dixie


Mr. Rogers is givin hand jobs in the alley behind the store

The world is cuckoo for crack

The Taj Mahal is now a brothel

And there’s a knife in my back


The pope is mainlining heroin

The sky’s red as blood

Baltimore is burning

And I’m ready for the flood


I gotta sick little baby sittin at home

She needs a cure

She needs a cure

Got maxed out cards and six shady loans

Still hungry tired and poor

Still hungry tired and poor


I ain’t lazy, got two lousy job

Can’t pay the rent

Can’t pay the rent

Corner store ahead, beggin to be robbed

Then I’ll repent

I’ll repent


My parole officer is gonna be so mad

I been grindin on these streets

Grindin on these streets

I wanna be good, wasn’t born to be bad

Do what it takes for my baby to eat

I’ll do what it takes for my baby to eat


To make a little extra, I sling a little caine

Watchin my back for the cops

Watching everywhere for the cops

I snort a little bit to stay on my game

Push the product, move that rock

Push the product, moved that rock


The more that I do, the more that I need

Profits going straight up my nose

Profits are going into my nose

I feel like I’m morphin into a fiend

Cant afford the heat or baby clothes

Cant afford the heat or baby clothes


Few months later and I am the man

You wanted rock, come see me

If you wanted rock, come see me

I wasnt careful, had no exit plan

I got caught on several felonies

I got caught on several felonies


They took away my baby and gave me a cell

Life behind bars, no parole

Life behind bars, no parole

Baby girl was adopted, she’s in good health

Worth every minute in the hole

My baby is alive, but iI’m in the hole


I was bored last night watching Oz and wanted to write some poetry. I know there isnt really a rhythm but this is like a rough/scratch draft. Maybe one day I’ll polish it up. 


The Noose

This is the flipside to my previous story The Lawman


The Noose


My final walk was filled with insults and rotten vegetation as the sheriff led me and the five other unfortunate souls through the crowd of angry onlookers to our final destination: the noose.
Momma always told me this would be my fate; from the touble I caused in Sunday school to the drunken fights I got into in my teen years. Momma said if I didn’t change, I’d wind up on the wrong end of the rope.
Well, she will get her chance to say she told me soon enough.
I wanted to get better, truly, I did, I just couldn’t. The life her and everyone else wanted for me was too dull, too structered. I needed excitement. I needed the thrill that came from holding up stage coaches, needed the fun the you can only find in a gun fight.
These people I’m walking past will never understand. They can get their jollies quite easily: making love, laughing with friends, accomplishments, family. Boring things.
A bearded man was in the front row, holding his daughter in front of him by the shoulders. They were’nt yelling like the rest, just staring at me with intense hateful eyes. Did i hurt them in some way? Was the man’s wife the woman that jumped in my way and took a bullet in the gut? Was the woman I accidently killed while she was squirming beneath me, screaming no, the little girl with the big blue eyes mother? I wasn’t in the mood to ask, so I just gave them a big hearty smile. The man cleared his throat and spat all over my face. C
Can’t say I haven’t done nothing to deserve it, just dunno why this time. I guess, it doesn’t matter now.
None of it does at this point.
The sheriff walked us up the final stairs we would ever climb, unless God was in a giving mood and wanted to give us a pass into heaven, but I think a quick death was the Lord’s last mercy on my rotted soul.
Once we were in our designated positions, the Godman started talking, praying fruitlessly for rest and forgiveness. He was wasting his breath.
I didn’t want forgiveness, because I had no regrets, aside from getting caught during the bank robbery with the fools standing beside me.
The Godman finished up as the sheriff slipped the itchy rope around our throats.
I thought about the fun I had, the action I brought to my part of the world, the stories I gave people. Sure, some innocents had to die along the way, but that’s part of the story and all good stories have their share of tragedy.
And, now we are at the end of my story, as the floor falls out beneath us, one by one, I can smile on a life fulfilled.

The Lawman

The Lawman


The sun laid its dry, miserable warmth over our tiny, forgotten town like a blanket we ain’t ever asked for. The clouds, like anyone with a sense of self-preservation, left a long time ago, with no plan on returnin’.

This town makes trouble wanna quit drinkin’, clean up its life, and start sellin’ bibles for the Lord. Wasn’t always like that, but, ya see, when a criminal gets away with an illegal act, he brags about it to his criminal buddies, sayin’, “That town over yonder is ripe for the pickin’, boys”. When enough criminals brag about taking advantage of the same town, all lawbreakers decide to get themselves a piece of pie.

When that happens, ya gotta bring in a lawman like myself, to reset the balance. This town was unbalanced as a one legged drunk, seein’ twelve different sheriffs in the last five years.

Only 6 months here and I’ve already been shot at, stabbed, robbed, and nearly abducted. The criminals here are on a whole new level of wickedness.

I could always just call up the posse and have these foolish criminals hanged by their necks or some other torturous end, but there’s no real honor in all that. Least not like when you throw down the gauntlet and put your own neck on the line. Shows the good folk o’ this town that I’m willing to fight for em, gives ‘em hope and courage. Shows the bad folk I’m willing to die fighting them, and if they wanna carry on with their shenanigans, they better be willing to do the same.

Take the big, stupid feller standin across from me in the muck, hand anxiously waitin’ for Jeb the bartender to yell, “Draw!”, so he can grab his pistols and put a bullet in my skull.

This Mean-Eye Matty, Mush Eye, or Mud Ear, or whatever cute name his friends are callin’ him now, came into town three days ago on a sick nag. His first destination was the bar. He got into a fight and spent the night in a jail cell; “free room and board”, as he put it. Then today, he went back to the bar and tried buyin’ more booze with intimidation.

That’s how we got into this here situation.

Boys ready?” The bartender called out, raising his arm to the sky. We both nod yes.

DRAW!” the bartender yelled, giving the sign to pull our weapons and start firing.

Mush Eye was shaking when he reached for his pistols, causing him to fumble the guns out of their holsters. This man was a big talker, but when push came to shove, Mud Eye turns into a shivering mule.

I reckoned I’d at least give ‘em a chance and fired my first shot into the ground, five feet in front of him.

Mush Eye pointed his gun at me and pulled the trigger.

The bullet missed me.

I almost felt bad for ol’ Mushy as I trained my sight on him. He was just an idiot, surely he ain’t deserve to die.

But, someone had to do it and who better than the lawman?

I pulled the trigger and heard the sweet sound of my bullet hitting the target. His shirt exploded in red spray before he collapsed in a pile of flesh, blood, and idiocy.

As they all do.

But, he’ll be back. Get hisself into a fight with the devil and get kicked outta hell, come back as ‘Oklahoma’ John or ‘Blue Bart the Bullet Dodger’, and cause more problems.

And, I’ll be waitin’, ready to send ‘em back.