Thursday, October 20, 2005

God Loves Richard Jewell

“God Loves Richard Jewell”
The bus driver don’t give us no slack
Like the prison warden, he don’t care
And in this life, then, why should we?
A ticket to ride, pigeon shit
There're pigeons now on Market square
She’s standing in here underwear
Looking down from a motel room
Moonfall will be coming soon
She was a good wife
Packed his bags for the suicide
If you’ve got to go, you got to go
But I wanted to linger just five minutes more
Those hugs weren’t enough
Unless they could last forever
Got kicked out of bed
Not a moment too soon
To ride this roundabout circle
To Degas Hell
A bum with a keyboard, but nowhere to plug in
Bronze stiff children dance firemen
I don’t know man, I just woke up
Placid waves lap the bay
And this loneliness won’t leave me alone
I’ve got nothing to live for
No, and I ain’t got no money to pay
Just sitting at the Transbay Terminal
Watching my bus roll away
A wino hacks the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls
This jive thing has got to stop
Oakland wild fro boys beating
each other
A puppy licks their wounds
This whine country sissiness must die!
Being drunk was a good disguise
What for?
For pretending that you don’t know
what’s going down
I’ve heard of Greyhound Express bus
But this sure as hell ain’t one
A frustrated frantic pigeon smashes
its head into the glass walls of our prison device
As we devised empty plans to escape
We tossed lucky pennies
Into the bidets at Market @ San Carlos
Kindness and respect overrode
The flowing tears for the
leaving husband
Gray wild woman sagging stomach Punjabi
Waited for his return
This is the garden of my angel grew
But now the original track homes blur
Wet paper bag park benches in
A circle honor a rock, that’s it
Great America Towing?
Wasn’t it so nice to taste fashion?
When you weren’t looking
But now you’ve been sucked in and are chasing
Forgotten emptiness
Was once a mighty ice cube
Now in the desert hot sands
Valley of Green, rivers
Trees softly brushing the water surface
Tickling the aphid’s back
This is what Muir saw
Not the exploitive oppressive Central Boring
Valley of leaches at bus stops
Nothing to do but consume triple prices
and watch poor Mexican dust pickers
Clinging desperately to any pride found
Under hats and silk shirts
We gave up
When the stewardess left with our
Prohibited intoxicants
A joint would help with this trip
But I’ve got a wife in which
Dreams take me higher
In hidden hamlets of Hollister
Cool things are secret
The fields grew legs and ran alongside
Over the bumps of the ride
Down the road of empty conversation
Keep thinking of the man kicked off
In San Rafael
Busted for smoking a cigarette in the pisser
a light flicked on warning the driver
and shit went to hell
and now he’s alone on the road
with nowhere to go, and his cigarette
burning him down to the but
barreling down, past countless state prisons
crime, big business, reaches all the way
to my Greyhound ticket pocket
Buildings crammed, emasculated dreg souls
Victims of law enforcement’s
Strategic deceptions
The one you love is the one that should take you higher
If you got no one, you’d better go back out and find her
They all warned, “Don’t go out there”
But what else was there to do?
When we were young, we drank to die
But that took too long
Now we drink to hold on
Bitten by the monster
And oh my God I love her
Sure there was a wall to bitch at and
Bounce off
But those little things like packing my food
And making sure she cared
Mean all the world
Reciprocation is a land of poor futile confusion
Have a night to pursue happiness
But to obtain it is questionable
Car explosions and tipped road comes
Rolling rock and bounced tires
And the pool of holy water
Always off in the distance
Will we ever get there, you and I
Naked as children?
With this penal system we learned
Not to trust a soul
When your defense attorney turns you in,
Man, I ain’t seen nothing new
But I don’t want to get hard, against my woman
They’ve made my life outside a prison too!
Billy, and this okiedokieing folk,
There is a better way of confrontation
Elevation is Evaluation
A dead bloated possum on the road
The world to the wino, “No love, no love”
So he danced with the street light
Finally silence became a symphony
The playground of death and fears
Merry go round spun dizzily faster into the sun
When will they get around to drop the bomb?
And when our time comes. . .
But our time is now
And I’m coming at it with a mean ugly streak of vengeance
For what it’s done to me and my life
To work and sweat and by my fucking neck
To my crew, oh if I could repay
All the times they’ve come up huge
As a millionaire, I’d be worse then
Auto scrapyard and homeless encampments
A maze of railroad tracks never sought to amaze me
Every city I see it’s the same old thing
Steam slipping through cracks
San Fernando, Glendale, Los Angeles
Front yard plastic swim pool, a rock of walls
Rivers and luscious track homes
International students French @ Japanese
Telling me of absinthe and zambuka sans opium
And find the science of madness interesting
Old abandoned dedicated train depots
If only it were true to it
Financial timetable
There were walls not to see the city
There wasn’t much but silliness
Apollo is ready for battle
LAPD is gruesome architecture
Monolithic and ugly, just like their
Station building
Ask a man to pass the goddamn potatoes
Do Not Cure
Do Not Enter
We in the projects, we in the hood
Wherever you hide out
We’ve pissed there first
Weary bus passengers gleam out the window
Ants swarming
Notes and lines so lost
And fat bloated old men
Fathers, they thought they knew
But are we all a bunch of schmucks?
And our wives were wise to us
All our live on a pin point
We live to kill ourselves
Gimme pain
A TV preaching death and Revelations
Showing off our bloody tattoos
And you don’t even know me
I meant something wrong
But then there was Mt. St. Helens
Erupting in our belly
The demon was in a fair young girl
Love to hate, hate to love
Old Navy pukes vs. old sweaty lady men reading
bartender manual dressed to funky
Are we all a bunch of silly numbers
Mauled skunks in a backyard
None of this meant nothing
Old time rock and roll in a 21rst century town
Old man country bartender
Elks moose president and chef student
Everyone danced so preciously
To apologize really is an intrusion
A double check to see if you meant something
I’m sorry for everything wrong in the world
Everyone would play the martyr
Stories told in the desert by T-Bo’n
But when it came down, so did we
Out of the owl eagle’s nest and
Back into our depressions
So sweating to git the fuck out of this town
Kindly old Mexican man to the side of me
Being honorable is trying to do
As your folks got through
Trying not to be the poet was the poet
Trying to catch the bus wasn’t
Lost luggage in Los Angeles
Three hours later, sleeping through a black bus car wash
Checking out fashion and trend magazines
In the Central Valley over asyd tea
A strange sick mix of country and rave music
But back on the road those wheels turned
Conversations with an old beautiful social
Worker lady, tips of love and organization
A porch swing for two
Talk of progressive dementia
Progressive degenerative, difference?
Religion, she’d slap me upside my fool head
if she knew I said “Nigger” frequently
To agitate
Old men in funky fedora flumes
A strange cute four eyes perky
Fleshy Indian paleface girl
Smiling at me, and then her boyfriend
Tie dye traveling to the Phish show
A couple, stroking, laughing, sleeping,
Wondering if I could ever
Above the obnoxious roar of the Harleys
A great myriad of faces
Some not on the bus
Like fat old rip-off queen busstop storeowners
In hick towns I care to forget
Of old imploded graffiti decorated
Farm homes of wayback yesteryear
Of invisible lakes and oceans
Of the Golden Hills of California, the Golden State
The developer pushed the reputable drunk
out of the helicopter for not advertising sickly:
“There’s gold in them thar hills”
They kicked me off the bus
in Santa Rosa
this is your home
back to my car
back to my girl
back home
whatever that was
Are there yet?


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