death bed memory

i got in sammys truck by the lake. we drove around the forrest, blaring opera untill a tree ofended us. we got out and cut the fucker down. we then found a large box of bottle rockets and drove about the forrest firing them out the window as the bottle of whiskey rolled around in the back. His girlfriend made fun of john and my Lauren seduced me a thousand times. Later that week over vicodin and MGD's, Sammys girlfriend told us she has cancer. In retaliation to God's being an asshole, Sammy crashed his 54 Hudson Hornet. I burnt the crap out of my hand and Lauren's Best Friend fell asleep behind the wheel. I guess it's time to get back in the recording studio.

Buy the fucking album: Email ekv2001@yahoo.com and she'll ship it. I'm serious, I'm fucking broke.

the women i’ve kissed
are a strange lot-

they still live in the depths of my body like
geologic layers

their sexual memory returning in spring when everything is sprouting

messy and filthy and wet

the first was love. the horrid kind where you can’t remember whose shirt belonged to who first

and everyday you want to climb inside them and sleep forever.

-e vernon

Got me a girl
got me a lady
got me some debt
I aint paid lately

I got me a sunday
Im not alone
I’m in love
leave me alone

cause im doing just fine
you know I aint blind
I aint the same man no more


tell john at the bar
give up my stool
tell the poliuce man
I follow the rule

tell Dan Brown
down town
i’m through
dont spect me around

cause I’m doing just fine
you know I aint blind
I aint the same man no more

I wore the cuffs
in both occasions
I wore my shame
on different medications

got me a date
a tax rebate
I pay my bills
a little late

no need to worry
no need to cry
I’ve cleaned up
I wont die

catastrophy

It’s up to me
to put it up to you
to take your time
tell me true

it aint my fualt
we lost the money
were too stonned
and it aint funny

catastrophy

i cant swallow
I cant see
shes gone
but she aint free

catastrophy



met her in a mini mart
tearing upper bags apart
she looked so dirty
dirty enough for my heart

I showed her my pick up
I showed her my gun
lets go out west
and have us some fun

you know she never ever ever ate
never slept, I couldnt relate
when we made love with less passion
than when the rats mate

knew a guy in sacramento
lata tubes in his ford pinto
Lived in a old hotel
not aplace to get sentimental

she went in
didnt come out
i broke in
when she shout

Got a bag
and eight dollars
a little blood
on my colar

we hit the all the schools
and the surfer hang outs
I had me a good god time
she just hung her head and pouts

for me she tired to go
straight as a straight arrow
she walked the mountain pass
althougth the legde was narrow

came home from a job
worken as a wine snob
found her dead on the floor
OD wont love no more

Junkies live real hard
junkies live along time
junkies learn a lot
but not in real time

dont mourn my baby
dont mourn my dead daughter
dont mourn the sunset
dont mourn gone river watter

I miss her as I miss you
I miss youth and I miss truth
I missed the buss
I miss you and me... us.

who i am

I got a new york adiction
and a philly feind
an la hang over
but I staying clean

when you touch me
I cant low down
I need push you
and hold you down

thats who I am
thats who I am
thats who I’ll be tomorow morning when you leave me
thats why I feel so damn free
thats why I wont say I love you thats who I am

I got time on my hands
I dont mean to be mean
but you beeter back off
if you wanna stay clean

I drink like fish
and I’m out of water
who I’m after next
could be your daughter

I pur like a pussy
when i get pet
I can do things
nobody could regret

got girls all over
and a good passport
wont love ya and leave you
unless you pay forit

oregon

I got the shakes
I got the aches
I got a hollow
I got no brakes
I got home
I got a wallet
I got song
but I forgot it

In oregon

Billy bought a bottle
billy hit throttle
billy hit road
billy hit a tree
Billy death a told
wasnt free
in oregon

im in the mood
im feeling right
dont bring me down
I will fight
I got a bottle
I got a gun
I got guitar
lets have some fun

in oregon

you know it rains
when I’m right
Your wind
wont blow all night
you know my daughter
you know son
at birth
no oxygen

In oregon

two pills a day
and some water
im feeling blue
call a doctor
brothers dead
suicide
mothers sad
wont take the ride
to oregon

an enema
and hollow cane
a pack of fags
and cheap cocaine
beat up hippies
and fruity jocks
I beat up any body
at cascade locks

in oregon
in oregon

my second favorite song

Out in the street you can hear a sad wail
the man who was drinking was taken to jail
folk songs and liqour
just make the soul siker
and leave you with no cash for bail


jed was a carpenter who liked his gin
placed a bet bet he though he could win
ane was hooker all covered in scars
when she coughed she saw the stars
they danced to gether
in the bright lite
and were guiltless just for one night.

ane carried a baby for a half a year
jed stayed sober not even a beer
baby fell out as she clean the floor
dead as a door nail wont cry no more
jed took to drinken and bought a gun
shot ann twice but just took one

i went to the funeral wearing black
sang an elogy with out tact
bought mom some flowers and dad some lure
was over powered by jeds sisters alure
caught me the shivers wont live a year
thats why in drunk and sitten right here.

had me a job tending flowers
had me a job made five dollars
had me a job could pay my rent
had me a job that came and went
now im broke sad and a joke
cant remember the poems i spoke.

blood from a stone
leave me alone
these words are cheap
this slope is steep
ya ya ya

horrible headache
it’s what you make
i hate the light
I have the right
ya ya ya

mr police man
I know your daugher
she aint ugly
when the light aint on her
ya ya ya

neo nazi
delicate
wrinkled face
that wont forget
ya ya ya

i remember your face
but not your butt
you got a mouth
god cant shut
ya ya ya

I’ve seen you come
i’ve seen you go
I’ve seen your underware
on the floor
ya ya ya

I’m not bitter
or anti social
I’m not yours
bitch asshole
ya ya ya
this joke is funny
so dont knock it
this pen is short
cant do with outit

ya ya ya

america

I’m suposed to
describe or legitamize
what I despize?

I never saw the best minds of my generation
they stayed well away
from anything
that smelled like art.
Artists.
Fuckers
Fuckers
high fashion
stonned
in control
boring
boring
predictable
iliterate
boring
boring
people
filling out of art school
like brand new cell phones off an assembly line.
Fuck you all
for failing to be anything like a countries concious.
Fuck you for being too good
for what the rest of us live on and for
America.

shri lanka

They confided their love
of methamphetamines
as I pretended to sleep.
Vanity
Seattle
stop lites
and a respite in the rain,
despite urban renewal
this city is the same.

Dark video games
loomed like our childhood
for a quarter
you feel beter.

We lay on our sides
as she looked at my face
like it were her own
in the bathroom mirror.
Waylon Jennings is dead
said Lary King.
We pretend we were in love
and closed our eyes and made it.

I’m headed for Atlantic city
silly, I should have shaved.
We’re headed to Atlantic city,
shitty old buss.
New Jersey aint so bad
if your from nowhere pretty.
if I were going to NYC,
Philadelphia or home,
this Jersey drizzle
on a dirty bus window
would be reason worry.
I’ve apologized on this bus
(or one like it)
going from there from there.


Maybe I’ll play in a cover band
or serve you drinks
I’d like to think
your drink
would be strong
like I like to think
I am.

I think in Atlantic city
below that neon canopy
side stepping middle class vomit
and jumping over puddles
I’ll learn to dance.
But then maybe it’s too late for me.
God I hope so.

She took my armrest
(well, really alot more).
I think the poetry of living ends
when the posterity of writing begins,
glamor in broken bones
and vomit stains
american lore
and nonsense trains...
I quit.
She says there’s no train to atlantic city
and I’ll believe her.

horse body

porposeless prose
who knows
how this song will end.
Madmen and milkmen
at the door
mistook my wife
for a whore.
Given the time
I could finish the book.
Given the time
I could take your rook
given the time...
(i could finish this... umm)


‘So!’
I decree
rubbing my hands together
in the early afternoon drunk
‘So!
What’s next?’



No need for these please,
I’m lost in these trees.


I saw pa kill ma.
Pa saw what I saw.
Ma laid down ma
called the law
called the law

i grew big
too big soon
my head hit the moon
still missed ma
still missed ma

got old man hands
horse body
a daughter too
too lovely
too damn lovely

the end
the end
no more money
to spend

Doobies on 22nd and Lombard, late on a Sunday night.

These men fall
no wherewithall
to cope

I live on
with arms strong
to climb

Three songs for a dollar
blue collar
depression wollower.

Long live sorrow!
I must borrow
to live.

Art is cheap
the slope is steep
to climb.

her song sang:
damn I’m depressed
damn I’m a mess.
meanwhile
she drank with the rest.

Argentina AArgentina
I’ve never meet you
but I’d sure glad to have met ya’.

Sunday Sunday
I’m all alone
but II’m not lonely.

climb climb
spells funy
but it’s a rhyme.

I work in a theater in downtown philadelphia. I live on the cusp of the suburbs, where stately homes sit a block away from relic shells of stateley homes. I don’t know why I work in the theater, I am drawn to it, in any capacity. I say I don’t know why I always seem to find myself working in the theater, because I hate the theater. I hate the theater like many people hate their fathers. Maybe if I hated my father, I wouldn’t hate the theater as much as I do.

I am poor, in a pure way. I wear clean colared shirts and I don’t talk about my money problems. but it is my poverty which makes me feel entitled to feel things about American art, and in as much as I feel them, these things seem important to me. Did I mention that I hate the theater?

Right now I am a telemarketer for a theater in Philadelphia. I make a large number of calls on the off chance I will reach somone whoes life circumstance is strange enough that they would feel compelled to donate money to a theater over the phone. This is an alienating idea to me. I have never given money to a nonprofit over the phone. I have, however given a great dea lof money to panhandlers over the years. Telemarketing is for faluires like me, because of the large volume of faluire one must endure in one night. But this is not why I hate the theater.

I ride the bus to work, and I am often the only white person on the bus. I don’t live in a neighborhood where white people pretend to be poor, I live in a neighborhood and perhaps if I stay there long enough I will become someones neighbor, where as the icy indiference of the gentrified parts of town don’t alow for such behavior.

The reason for this exposition is that the story I am about to tell would be painfuly boring without understanding my temprement, opinions on art and my poor upbringing. I was to take the bus downtown to see a play for free. I did not want to see this play, but as this play would normaly cost thirty five dolars, I felt compeled to try and see it. So I gathered change from my girlfriends various pants strewn around the floor, counted enough out for the bus and waited on Broad street.

The play I was to see had a one word title, a noun. It wasn’t a noun like ‘revolver,’ or ‘penis,’ a word one could infer a vuage notion of the probably arch of the play. In fact the content, meaning and jist of this play was a mystery to me. There was no reason for me to go to the show. Hilary had the existential urge to afirm Everest’s existance. I had a perk and a reason to not spend money in a bar for a little while. People got on the bus. People getting onto a buss headed downtown in the evening are different. They arent spent like people coming home from work. They are maybe on one leg of a longer journey, on their way to recreate, or hating theater and feeling self... did i mention I hate the theater?

a watlz

Philadelphia

Dancing With Philadelphia
(waltz)

There’s a body in the river
a hole in my liver
the cold makes me shiver
I’m dancing with philadelphia

The man on the corner
claims he’s a loner
claims to have hurt her
He’s dancing with philadelphia

my pockets are empty
I’ve seen lands of plenty
please dont defend me
as I dance with philadelphia

don’t mind the rain
dont mind the sun
it never lasts long
so dance with philadelhpia

i knew that girl
her looks can kill
the city falls down still
lets dance with philadelphia

you dont feel good
god knows who would
I cant keep down food
lets dance with philadelphia

thats a stranger sound
I’m thinking out loud
dont fart in a croud
that’s dancing with philadelphia

any one seen my hat
no thank you I dont do that
yeah I’m crazy as a bat
thats dancing with philadelphia

good luck mom
I wont be there in the storm
you defined ‘harm’
made me dance with philadelphia

these letters are strange
i am alienate by rage
and my book’s last page
thats about philadelphia




chorus:


(chorus)
My goods are good
my wares are cheap
beware the sloop
for it is steep.

An exotic product
from the east
we freed afgahnistan
unelashed the beast

Why why why Philadelphia
a buisness climate
couldnt be healthier

good news

good new sfor house wifes
your husbands are dead
gone to fight the war
got hit in the head

good news for democrats
the war was lost
we can all go home
and discover the cost

good news for gibson guitars
countrys college bound
dorm rooms will be bored
a rerun sound

good news for phizer
i broke down today
I tried to write a song
but beatles was all i could play

good news for everybody
tommorow will be the same
no reason to give up
and go insaine


good news for dr phil
were all fucked up
we see a doctor
insurance went up

good news for anarchists
passed another law
afraid of terrorisrst
we’ll all be them by fall

i thank them, then jesus on another line.

I got online to check my email and noticed an unclosed instant message from you to mom. It said you wrote on your cd:

"thank you to bob and robyn carrico and to the lord jesus christ for playing no part in my life"

I asked mom and she said you have actually done something like this before.

Let me make myself clear. I have no intentions of telling you what I think of you.

This is not between mom and dad and you. This is between you and I. They have no idea I'm contacting you, no idea about my opinion on the matter, and I don't want them to know.

If I ever hear that you disrespect them again in any way, mouth off, allow creditors to hound them, or pull any of your usual cowardly tricks, I will fuck you up so bad no surgeon will ever be able to save you.

That's a promise fucker.

~Ben

i am not a sand castle
really
i’m more like a rock in a storm
but you know
those things wear away too
quickly
but i am here now
i am big and old and stong
like an ocean rock
ironic
i don’t want to wear away
but thats all i do.
really.
she clings to me
and it makes me
me.

it went well. thank you ameena kira and emily. we all know life sucks but sometimes we get to save drowning men and it makes us feel good for a few hours. to say nothing of the drowning man.

to find meaning
in being
i walked
as
the city stretched thin .
I heard gentle music
in a power drill
but lost it
when I named it.
Suddely
came late
so I had another drink.
The ice was melting on the
black pavement
and my knees hurt
like an old mans.
Stranded
waiting for suddely
i measured alcohol percentages
and my face in the back bar mirror.
‘Where the city ends
I do not know,
for alcohol
anywhere I’d go,’
I smirked at the napkin.
cracked pavement
looks good
to a drunk man
looking
down.

a white man on the subway
forgot he was
and thought he saw.
In the black tunnel
an aborigional mural
shone in the lightning spark.
He closed his book
and squinted through the dirty window
until he saw him self
in the refleciton.

I spent a year (or two) throwing words around
tossing them like empty beer cans.
Now my shaking hands find it dificult
to hold them and mold them...
and not be jaded by their tricks.


Julia lost her mother last year
and misplaced her father
in all that traveling that followed.
It took me a month to get her to trust me
then it got too real and I left.

Anne wrote poems for a living
and well she lived
judging by the tatoos on her back.
‘To be a writer is to be a spectator in ones own life,’
I miss quoted to her.
She didn’t look up
to see me leave.

same river twice

an amazing thing happened to me
cocked ready to kill
in one of the dead places I knew so well
she told me to calm down
and it made me pause.

she told them to fuck off
but didn't mean it
cause she looked at me breathing hard
like an injured horse
and loved me.

she took me by the hand
into the alley
let me weep
then changed the subject
sofly and loved me.

I still have a grievance with god
for giving me this heart
then hiding it deap in my chest,
but I've changed so much these last few months
now that I have somthing to lose;
she wakes up in our clean white sheets
smiles at me then scowls at the day
cause she loves me.

a hero dies but once and a coward a thousand times
the past proves me a coward
but not my dead friends heros
when I die
I hope I will have made a hero's home
in some suburb
far from contemporary art, theater and suicide
and with one who loves me.

i can still beat up your boyfriend
and get god fired
but you know what?
I'm tired.
I got this heavey bag of groceries
and a hill to climb
to get to that girl
who loves me.