We surf concrete surfaces and sewers

where we smuggle 18 packs of domestic beer

into the underworld where stoned djs

play with the mix of the beat technica

Bums shoot up junk by the library

their plight is self wrought and totally not their fault

I have a salt shaker of coke in my pocket and a half ounce of something special

in m back pack.

I walk into the library smelling of gin

and burned blunts

I need a book to study in my shabby

hotel room with no hot plate

and a refrigerator with schizophrenia

Im paid up for the month so Im not sweating

but with this life of ease comes different


Cocaine is a life style

weed is a necessity

and beer is a delight

a delight to drink and not fear the wrath of time

but to stay in that simple youthful posture

to avoid the folly of poker games gone bad

ace up the sleeve

but not chips on the table

I need a women

a prospect to nestle close to while I watch old science fiction movies

Banger weed will do

but I got the sauce weed,

that beauno yerba

for the mind,

remain calm in the face of impending doom

I remember your gaze as pitiless and empty as a cavern void

I wish I could skate to your house and cure your sickness

brought on by cheap stimulants and

dirty unprotected sex with scum bag dealers

but alas our roads diverged and now I cant help anyone

much less myself

I contemplate suicide by jumping off the libraries 9th floor

but I dont want anybody staring at the mess ill leave behind.

but the words flow and I Hope they always will

The library is my sanctuary

from the callous bum filled streets

I got out of politics and into drugs

I still eat beef even though it destroys the planet

Ive given up on going sober and now I

relapse into stupidity and heavy drug

and alcohol use.