. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

The Old Town Prayer

To all you children out there, hang on to what you've got. Hang on as long and as fiercely as you can. And when they come to take it, fight them like snarling dogs, fight them with every tiny and perfect aspect of your beings, until the blood that runs through you is gone...

Refashion these sticks and bones,
faggots left by the campfire,
stained with cigarette smoke,
till they’re dried like a poor man’s roof and old,

Take me back to torn sleeves,
a knife in the boot,
outlaw hair and a crooked smile,
salted snakeskin stiffening on my mother’s front porch,
till I stitched it to a hat they wouldn’t let me wear,

Boxcars bouncing on the rails through town,
drilling holes in our heads,
electric orgasm on the intercom,
before porn was sin,
before the trails were choked with thorns,
before they pulled my nest down from the trees,

Naked in the sugarcane,
green tunnels of paper-sharp leaves edging out the sun,
thin lines of beaded blood on my skin,
kindred to the crows overhead,
till the sweat burns my eyes and turns me homeward,

These lone wolf ribs are lean,
years spent hunting philosophies and chasing dreams,
refashion these sticks and bones,
till I have regained the joy that comes with solitude.



  1. I always see you this way, but blurred and less naked. You, my son, will always be the first born and last dead.

  2. May your words ring true till the last of my dying breaths.

  3. Dying breaths, or living breaths? Because if we're talking about 'dying breaths', the implications are edging somewhere towards reincarnation. If this is your intention, you master of subtlety, I must know forthright and nearer to now than not, WHAT DO YOU MEAN!?

  4. Dying breaths are those breaths we begin to breathe when we reach the apex of our life's arch, which is about the place where Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett got to when they were both so utterly beautiful in Benjamin Button.