you think you deserve recognition for being the last motherfucker who cares like a certificate that says this bitch doesn’t have to care no more. Then when some sick broken thing looks to you for strength you can show them the certificate and say, ‘sorry.’ Like tinted windows at an intersection where the mom and baby beg. Like they beg; they say ‘gimmie mine.’ They say, ‘See all this shit? Million miles of concrete, stop lights, signs, lawyers... and I know you feel worse than I do when I look you in the eye through your tinted windows because me and the baby are not culpable in all this shit. No, this shit isn’t ours, it’s yours.” you write music when your young cause the hammer hasn't beaten you flat many perceive music like the flashing don’t walk sign. Dad thinks the tragedy of life is welling tears and wanting to dance but his heart wont take it. Facebook is the biggest damn obituary page I have ever seen glanced at amidst a dream of tsunamis in the halls of your old high school. religion clears the mind, look down at that plastic bound bible and pray. just enough is shrine like. i knew a bended nail of a man with a type writer and a bottle of wine and a ceiling fan that lurched like a drooling Parkinson patient. his home was like a vision to me. he snorted at the imminent tragedy of me adoring his poverty. my baby and wife arent here in the land of throbbing irritated funeral dirges. she may read this skeptically and worry but babies I go here as frequently as whitey goes to the moon. me middle age ugly hairy hands but I dont write about buhda yet. I think kids like old poetry because our fathers wrote it and we think our fathers didn’t understand shit. my kids dont think I understand shit.