Maybe You’re Beat

Maybe you’re beat.

Flipped collar, slick hair

greased, overcast obscene,

hold cigarette between crude

lips, cage smiles.

Boys show teeth. Men, callous,

real, stare down butt stems

at smoke trails,

don’t flinch; weakness.

Lug guitar case, amp,

garage to shed, stand, scream;

sit sideways in alcohol,

shoot the breeze

with deadweights, sit on upturned

trash cans,

beat by the gravity of

dreamless life,

vomit every recycled idea, pretentious,

every careless binge, masochistic,

sleepless nights,

stiff with grief, narcissistic recluse,

fear paralytic, parents

who speak at you

leech-life ignorant,

blame you,

leave you and




But fellow beat’s words

through smoke screens,

laughs, eyes dig, dig it, into your

pierced flesh, under dark lids,

beneath jagged breaths,


They stay; hear; know.

You love them.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s