PPS (Pre-Poem Script)
Send money and pertinent facts of your life and I will make you immortal. I need a patron bad so I can pay my bills, so I can paint, so I can write. I'm 62 and there ain't many years left to do so. Please help me out!

Blues

I'll write you a song if you'll buy me a beer
swear it won't be long till you get to hear
The story of your life and loves in rhyme
your victories, your tragedies,
your blues and your hard times
And if you don't like the one I write
Come and meet me here again tomorrow night
I'll still be here laying lyrics down
Needing One more Drink to Drown
One more Drink to Drown

Living in the Future

Living in the future ain't as easy as it looks
Reading now from hi-def screens instead of from books
Politicians and Generals are this new ages worse damn CROOKS
Living in the future is not as easy as it looks

Living in the future ain't as fun as you would think
They give you a shot, makes you throw up if you drink
What with the war and the haywire, weather a man sure needs his shrink
Living in this future ain't as fun as you would think

Golden Age of Golden Ages, this future really sucks
"End of the world guys" hold up signs that just say "DUCK"
Feel like running over myself with my old pick-up truck
To hell with what the anchor man says... this future really SUCKS.

In the future a man is only as good as his cell
It can save your life when your lost down deep in HELL
But the man can always find you if you wear it on your belt
In this future a man ain't a man without his cell.

Droplets of truth

drain like bleeding corpusels
from th’ veinous maps of my heroin habituation
on starvation withered legs are the tracks
and on agony aged arms, the trails of punctures
now when my vessel of time is almost filled
I look down at the leathery landscapes of blood struggles
they seem to have once forgotten how to do
any other thing but,
but... fix the place settings for my dual new gods
th’ twins

Crave

who shows up for the masquerade as a curiously bent spoon
its once brightly shined, sparkling Sterling designed handle
tarnished now, all over, except by the match smutted bottom
it, I’m sure posessing it’s own flaming, historicly accurate
story about it’s first shot of black tar
or some equally boreing old spoon’s
much too time worn, tale of woe
and now comes this other DIETY
demanding your time and lots of effort
as tribute from the satrapy of your soul

Callous Disregard

who arrived disguised as a needle pointed caulk gun
filled to it’s cap with china white
is your need’s new Hell spawned slavemistress
and she too must be worshiped
must be, or else it’s, “kicktime”
instead of kickoff time
and believe me there are galaxies of difference there
therefore requiring you, amid all this chaos
to find a way to gratify at all costs
each whim of either godhead, daily and ceaselessly
or else find your inner self
puking it’s guts out
into the gutter
again
and again
and again..!
from that gutter.