a loads o' -ers

users, eaters, cheaters, beaters, followers, teachers, haters, lovers, movie-stars, telemarketers, sellers, fuckers, governors, officers, doctors, dancers, preachers, beggars, see-ya-laters, dollars, st. peters, makers, takers, fakers, brokers, hoppers, bummers, comers, goers, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, you-tell-hers, bed-wetters, strongers-feed-on-the-weakers, singers, talkers, swingers, cigaret-users, piss-drinkers, i-fucked-hers, hitchhikers, shoplifters, bartenders, fighters, peacemakers, shit-on-her, shitters, i-hate-her, suckers, listeners, rockers, soldiers, liars, in-particular, who-do-ya-think-ya-are-?!, gold-diggers, she's-a-whore, reflection-on-the-mirror, my-shits-ain't-yours, guitars, olders, youngsters, couriers, typewriters, escalators, elevators, stairs, hairs, life-ain't-fairs, gayers, mayors, layers, spellers, slurs, are-ya-hers-?!, slippers, tip-her, sears, gears, shifters, tires, fingers, workers, players, foreigners, cars, mars, tars, bars, jars, wars, weres, we'res, there's, their's, they're's, him-or-her-?!, fishers, hungers, muggers, lingers, thickers, thinners, queers, hollers, binders, boogers, gamers, heaters, colders, readers, mind-readers, fortune-tellers, watchers, sitters, closers, furthers, movers, outsiders, insiders, downers, highers, lowers, sirs, hotters, warmers, sweaters, legwarmers, tee-shirts, pluggers, campers, story-tellers, samplers, testers, et cetera-

home made grilled cheese sandwich

I could think
of many words
of to say,
write, see, and
hear in my
head at once.

I dig women
with long legs.
I dig women
with a tom-boy
attitude, pullin' on
my trousers an'
whispers softly on
my ear, yes.

'T has been
three days straight,
that I haven't
had a cigarette.
How I do
miss it, yes,
I said I
do miss it.
like a hungry
cat, too tired
t' carry on;
like a book,
without any words
t' read on;
like a song
or a poem
t' nobody particular.
Oh, I do
miss it, yes.

I have been
a sober man.
I said that
I've been sober!
I've been too
busy with livin'-
now, I don't
even know what
livin' really is.
I long for
my mistress- burgundy,
she treats me
well ev'rytime indeed.
The last time
I hung with
C. Rossi, he
was a good
man, but could
not deliver the
satisfaction as she.

I've written poems
that is clear
like the settin'
sun on the
other end o'
this lonesome road.
Like the first
water o' the
sea, that exposes
itself t' anybody.
Like a smoke
that raises from
a cigarette tip.
Like a weary
tune that says
all the truth.
Like a love
song that is
simple yet, direct.

Soon, I shall
hop on that
freight train in
the early morn.
Yes, I shall
bound t' leave
this ol' place
without any trace.
T' free myself
from it all.
On t' the
next place I
shall go; t
a place that
will accept me.

Finished on 9/20/09

Haiku

Part I
Like the formless clouds,
You have no destination;
Just to leave me cold.

Part II
When you do come anew,
Know that you've changed since then. A
formless cloud you are.

Part III
The morning sun rose;
fading my face along with
the thoughts that I had.

You Probably Won't Get This

My hair hung, covered my pierced ears. An' the
Way 'tis curled in the back of my weary neck,
(It) reminded me o' Winter: she treated
Me swell, indeed. Better than Miss Summer;
Though, I must admit, she done her best, yes.
But her wishes only brought me sorrow.
Nonetheless, I shall greet t'morrow with-
Out dwellin' me too much o' yesterday.

on the dark side of the road

The apparitions of headlites o' the
Fast an' slashin' cars;
Only the silence is the sound i hear.

city cats

there is something different here
"yes, i can just smell it" said the cat,
where no one had hair but each with long beards,
"what do you think that is-?' asked the cat 'and why-?"
whatever it was, i was new to it. i didn't know
what to think of it, when someone cried out "he must die!"
i asked "who, me?" then the death carrying a shovel showed,
with a smell of compound-leftovers of trash. "it's him!" said i.
"you lie." because there was nobody around me, because i was
the only one there. the proud cat now wasn't where it was at, he sat
down, but, instead, he fell deep neath the ground and just kept on falling and falling.

september

O, september, how i've waited for thee,
from the break o' day t' see your shadow
drag up t' my knees & vague cat sneeze;
along with tunes of skeleton keys.

83109

everything that begin must end,
even a penny beggar on the street, too,
knows that the rules can be bent.