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my ink pens a paper mate
a soulmate on a play date
book ends to a paper weight
a gust of wind a paper chase
I write at night at stoplights
book marked with highlights
printed pages no rewrite
no spellcheck no correction
pen...itis like infection my stories
inflammatory arousing, seditious
in a black hood suspicious
wake up passionate intentions
paperback from way back
like a T Bird to the 1st lac
lights out fade to black
if I write about my suicide
that would mean that
I lied coz I never died
no funeral or hurst to ride
procession cars in a row
I use to live in sunny side
on the backside of beltway 8
sadly the sun never shined
on that side, on me so lonely
tattooed eye drop tears on me
cried for lost manuscript only
kicked it alone no hommies
teeth marks in pen caps
black hat turned to the back
my dedication to a throwback
black cats on my path
like Stevie said back in the day
superstitious ain't the way
composition books
wide ruled and quad 4x4
stuffed in a black leather
satchel strapped to my back
like a rat i killed that
