bird slave
Daylight birds
Would be so fine
If there were no alarms
No 40-hour workweeks
The beer barely gone
I’m envious of all my acquaintances
Who sleep as long
As body and brain needs
Jobless people
How do they do it?
What is it about beer
In early morning suns
& Sunday workdays
that never quite mix
when punch clocks are punched
& how in all hell
have I kept a job for
3 and a half years?
I suppose it comes down
To no other choice
With no one to blame
For this soon to come
Hung over Sunday job
In just a few hours
Maybe one more beer
You play you pay
Can’t change my ways
todays day
Steaky wakes
Eggy wegs
Odd morning almost sleep
Toast n green beans
Bowl tastes of dishwashing liquid
30 pack gone
no parking signs and monster tires
decorating my backyard
infested flies I spray toxic stink
on them and the never ending ants
sleep in induced drug dreams
waking for a smoke
the cat curled near feet
amigo who never sleeps
poking around my place, making noise all morning..
“shut up out there, and go to bed.”
he asks if he can bum a smoke when he lives at 8 am
“fuk off, im sleeping, go the hell away”
“Ok’ he says.
I get up at three pm
He had cleaned for hours
I feel bad I never gave him a smoke
But he drank all my beer
So it’s ok
Left over burgers
Bread toasted sunny side up eggs doused
In salt and xanax slurpy milk
afternoon medicine
Days become nights
Mornings, nights
A big suiqshy well of intoxication
My wallet empty as usual
Uno mas cerveca
Maybe hidden
More naps are called for
Never answer my cell phone
Just want alone time
I can’t sleep
I want to light fires
Run naked through the streets
& chain smoke till the sunrises
another blunt’s a callin
soft music chimes righteously through
my now relaxed speaker brain
for now, for once
a small taste of nirvana
cooked to pink perfection
melting in my mouth
day off
Barbecue pit a blazin
Illegal fire pit fire a blazin
My beautiful large backyard
The hot smell of fun in the sweaty Texas night
30 pack keystone lights
pills galore
steak, pork, burgers,
$ 1.40 cigs
guzzle guzzle
play slide guitar with a full beer can
pulls socks up from mosquito bites
im broke, no money,
but so is everyone else in my backyard
fuk money
arm poker sore sore
swallow gobble
morphine more more
xanaxtrific mix Valium
muscle relaxer
tell me where did you get that money?
Hush shush
Bloody dripping cued saucy steak bites
I ravish into the flesh from a hunger all day
Pop pop pop dah pillie willie
Lets see, maybe another Valium
Possibly an ambien
Nothing quite like a back yard fire pit
Within city limits
Hanging with the rest of
The neighbors, friends
Who all have warrants we ignore
Douse it in salt
Blood trickling down your chin
Look up at the galaxy above
Almost out of firewood
Those kitchen chairs will burn I comment
We need weed someone asks
Well, not really but sure
Would be nice if someone had money
Threaten drug dealer’s lives with drunken fibs
They show up quick that way for fronts
I never pay
The best thing with fire
Is waves splashing on ocean shores in my imagination
But I aint complaining
Gonna toss more on the fire
Pop another pill
I found strange growing things in my attic today
Advanced hyrdo ponic set ups and kits
I got 12 beers waiting
The fire blazin next to my
slided warped drunken blues guitar beer can fuk
ready to be twanged into other worlds
Man over-bored
It’s a strange feeling
Drowning in one’s self-made
Messed up ocean
Knowing there is
An inflated life jacket
So close by
To your
Fluttering
water logged paddling hands
grabbing air, I gasp, I reach,
as it floats further
& further
down paranoid insomniac
waves
of destinies
uncertain
choices
--------------
Lou reads mullet
Strapped around yoko’s double chin
Neil young’s retarded kids
Eating barbecued Michael Jackson babies
Out along the Malibu coast
Next to hermen’s hermit
Sitting on cream filled eric clapton’s
Stringy lounge like tom waited
For partridge familied sly stoned
Shaka con sesame street
Oscar the grouched hooked
On deep fried beetle protein
Clenching feet in caffeine overdose
Geezer butler
Who names a kid geezer butler?
--------------
The windows broken in all its divine shattered glory- glass shards laying form to my bloody feet, don’t believe people who tell you about walking on glass without bleeding. What if vitality’s grace rode a half green horse with yellow sparkling wings- above through thundering clouds yet never spoke to its rider. The glass in my somewhat painful feet is a sign of the barking creatures out in them oh so near woods. I’m missing the point, left spinning around this global winter air, yet my face is flushed and burning like blazing fires in oil slicked sea’s of ones own circling mind. If these flying white pebbles from sky beaches in space rained down upon all of earth would anarchy just be a daily chore, like brushing one’s teeth, like waking to a new day with no real purpose for continuation. Horizontal cumbersome illicit palpations in realizations blotch out for reasons only they can coincide with, dreams are ones only entertainment when its all come to bleeding feet, bloody knuckles, messy parts strewn among chapped up dry slivering debris of painted portraits ruined. My mind moving so quickly that it’s yelling at me to slow down. Every time they signaled me I retreated into unexplained thoughts that nagged at my brain like those invisible nats flying around ones head after heaving to hard.
Fact-about 65 percent of new marriages will end in divorce or separation.
More human beings need to learn how to be alone-
Fact- it could be over exertion, indigestion, drugs, or angina signaling a heart attack-
Fact- about 90 percent of all food borne illnesses can be transmitted from animals to humans
Fact- you can be electrocuted while talking on the telephone during a thunderstorm-
Many phobias are real, many imagined, yet they exist and multiply everyday we lift our weary heads from warm feather pillows & shuffle body to blue bath tiles to let out the waste in us-only to be surrounded by others who reek of falsehood and whose souls shine programmed brains in eyes made of silly putty. Repent for endlessly globing the mixture into sweat glanded overrides. Wobble while you walk strong through illusions one can only fathom in certain climactic forfeits. Appear before judges demanding that you are the president! For your horse has golden wings.
--------------
Digging deeper part 1
By Nicholas Roger Morgan
Copyright 2003
I was convinced someone was watching me at 4 am. they were hiding in my backyard. I had all the lights out but could not sleep do to the most extreme paranoia any mind could ever imagine. I couldn’t stop thinking that I was about to have a massive cardiac arrest just as the watchers in the backyard would come breaking down my door in blue uniforms and badges a shining, yelling and oinking in alien death chants!
I took a slug of warm whiskey, half slumped down in my bed. Shoulders hunched, neck slightly resting crooked on stained pillow. I thought about lighting a cig, but was to paranoid to light it, taking a shit was out of the question, even though I needed to take one for the last 3 hours, the toilet flush would be way too loud. They might hear it. The people in the backyard. My cat lay on my chest, purring, somewhat looking at me concerned.
I felt guilty. Like I let my cat down, like I let the whole world down. Everyone who had ever cared about me were all gathered together talking about what a failure I had become. A hopeless drug addict.
Severe come down thoughts never get easier. I began to dry heave. Half choking. Then a stream of booze vomit and bile came pouring out of my quivering lips. I crawled along the floor towards the bathroom. Moaning, groaning, hot flashes, cold flashes, voices and faces flickering all around. After the puke fest, I stood up, grabbed a beer from the fridge.
I was getting less paranoid, but still convinced the lights should all stay off. I remembered the good ol days when one needle prick of the finest sticky tar would take all this craziness away. But in this town I could only find uppers. My body craved opiates, my body hated cola. I was killing myself and I couldn’t seem to stop. The funny thing was, I didn’t even like this feeling, the paranoia, the lack of creative energy, the depression, and being broke all the time. I don’t even have an answer as to why I did it. Boredom is too easy of an excuse.
Opiates. Dam did I miss opiates. At least those are peaceful. I felt empty inside.
I slammed the beer, and started feeling a little better. Trying not to think of the fact I had to be at my shit job at 9am. I grabbed another beer and a few whiskey chasers, trying my hardest to hold all the booze in my empty aching stomach. I felt my stomach with my hand and realized I no longer had a gut. I must have lost a lot of weight. Eating food wasn’t much a part of my daily or nightly routine anymore.
Trains howled in the Texas early morning still dark air and I pondered becoming a hobo gutter punk. Hopping trains, traveling, leaving this bullshit town and job. I had just about sold all my belongings anyway. Material possessions were no longer important. I fantasized about being a gypsy train hobo smelly homeless scum for a while longer, till I realized I was too much of a pussy to do anything like that. I don’t have much. But the little bit of security I have, I often overlook in my manic states of abuse and delirium.
I grabbed another beer and turned on my computer in the hopes of writing some sort of poem. I use to enjoy writing poems. I lit a cig. My cat sat on my lap purring, staring up at me, waiting for me to start typing. I hit one letter on the keyboard and decided it was way too loud and that the people watching me in the backyard would hear me typing. So I just sat staring at a blank white screen.
I still had some shit left, it was in my pocket, taunting me, crying out to be used. I did some more and all the paranoia kicked back in even worse. I paced around the house, peeking out windows. Hearing things. Telling the cat to be quiet. Now I was really mad at myself. How would I ever sleep again? What about my job?
I decided to take a stand before my heart flipped out and stopped working.
I never thought I would live to a ripe old age. But I sure as hell didn’t want to die like this. Alone with fear. I quickly flushed the rest down the toilet. 100 bucks down the poop shoot. But I had to, I convinced myself. I got the nerve up to open the door to my backyard and toss my tool into the backyard bushes as far as I could throw it. I thought I saw people back there, moving around like strange animals, whispering desperate groans to each other in strange foreign languages.
I hadn’t slept in three days. I was having paranoid hallucinations attached to abnormal thoughts of robbing banks or jumping off freeway over ramps naked. I began to wonder what constituted the levels of insanity, and if I had reached them or maybe beyond. The sun was coming up along with the first bird chirps, as I lay in bed cracking another beer. Suddenly I realized what I had done and ran to the toilet, staring into its mouth. Had I really flushed my drugs? I had. Panic set in. I stared at myself in the mirror wondering who the fuck was looking back at me. Just some expressionless black eyed sunken in unshaven face. What the hell had I become? Was that really a reflection of myself looking back at me?
To be continued
Wana be sober boy
Insomnia with or without
Watching all
the soprano’s series on vhs
Till 7 am
Steak
Steak butter
Cigs
bored
Three cats lay sprawled
On bed
Thunderstorms
In Texas lightning
Hidden in this one night sober mini mansion
Happy animals can’t talk
Car for a week
Most friends are vampires
In the sleep sense
Bed when light
Wake when dark
We missed another day
Two towns connected
Such different cultures
Gold-toothed black men
And white bread
College kids
With sparkling hair
I come home
My half ass weight bench
Rusting in backyard
Is gone, stolen-
Desperation
Has many cultural
Faces
