. 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, November 16, 2016

Black Hand Thinking

Every single last fucking time I've died
I've asked you for relevance,
But never found the remotest kindness in your eyes,

The Witching Hour and the way you unpin your hair,
Found the missing A-minor chords in the bathroom stall,
Left them on your doorstep but you weren't there,

These fraggle crack rock whores tend to stare,
Make like I'm the bad guy when I'm fuckin',
Off-duty backdoor cab queens pay a different kind of fare,

I rode the coal boxcar from Denver to Dynamite,
Taking shits on the roof near the stars,
Slept in the hideaways through the coldest coal-black nights,

I saw the stamps in your desk at dinner,
And the jars of rain drops,
But you won't lift a GOTdamn ink pen to write a poem for a sinner.



Photograph by Mike Brodie

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