XIII

Biked all day.
listened to sweet jams.
I hope to see
how things turn out.

What the fucks the point. . .

You smell like i hate you
You taste like old news papers
from past tragedies

everything i do never
set precedence.

I was the last ride
of a dead president

good dreams
and assassinated
character.

Now the days move slower
than honey on cold glass.

I make love to the street post illuminated night
losing time in private properties

buckled feet
to the animal mother.
save for a few fights.
my time could be worse.

i could still be making childhood visits to
Dade county correctional.
clutching crosses till my palms bleed

a miracle
i made it this far
escaping to the golden gates
and all the noise
of people thinking for me.

I did my best
and sometimes i had to except
that somethings you just cant win
no matter how hard you try

Morning comes.
I fall to hell
and fold my hands in prayer
that i make it out of the coffin
card
in a gypsy's hand.

XIII...

oops sorry im tight.