Post Type Archives: Poems

I ain’t, ain’t the kind that gets addicted,she said,I can drive, get better at drivin’ when I’m like this,she said,flyin’ from heroin heights and salvia spurts,rockin’ her marijuana mellow, ‘n those sleep aid symptoms,pill poppin’ drink droppin’,she said, she said, she said,she ain’t the kind to get addicted,she ain’t runnin’ from,she’s just runnin’ fun.    …

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tall ‘n lanky legs,shadow slidin’ well worn paths,movin’ in the alien grace he stole without lookin’. Smokin’ packs of Cowboy Killers,drinkin’ red wine,‘n listenin’ to the Doors.                                             I don’t think I ever met a man                                       …

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Three beers, and ain’t no one else awake.Time for a smoke, time for an ache.        Learn to love you,                maybe,                        probably,                                never.

Sometimes I stare at a page,it stares right back,                                and it wins, it wins, it wins.

At work, folks ask me “Is that Stephen with a ‘V’?” As they stare into my reflective gold enameled nametag spelling “Stephen” with the “ph” that’s been mine from birth. I dumb-smile nod and spit out the coinslot response they’re asking for, “no, it’s ‘PH’ like the Saint.”Of course, St. Stephen is sainted for being …

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These California new-builts,they ain’t got those midnight noises,‘n it ain’t sleep if the house ain’t,ain’t singin’ you to sleep…

I wrote you a poem,‘n then I ripped it to shreds,    dosed it in gas,    set it ablaze. ‘n stared in silence for days ‘n days. I climbed mountains,‘n I followed rivers,grew with the trees,broke with the stone. Wrote that down too,before I hit it with a sledge,trampled it,wrote a grocery list over it. Now …

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I still know your birthday,our anniversary,how you best like to be fucked,the smell of your hair, ‘n how, ‘n how is that fair?