almost straight ahead

for a day i drove straight ahead.
no slight turn, or dip in the road.
the grandness of the land ballooned in my head,
gently drifting through the golden waves of the Iowa fields,
never before more at ease.
the sun was burning out, when i was startled by an intersection.
no traffic going either way.
only me, confused.
relieved.
to the left, a topless bar.
on the right, a motel.
i doubted my ability to keep the car straight for much longer,
so i pulled right in, to a graveled parking area with no designated spaces.
the red neon was still faithfully lit, but the place looked closed.
it was worth a stop anyway, if only to stretch my road-worn legs in the dust.

the heat was still pressing in the dark, as i dragged my feet towards the office, accompanied by the soothing sounds of crickets.
there i knocked at the screen-door, and rumbling sounds emerged from inside.
a tall midwestern beauty opened the door.
curly dark red hair (not her real colour), and the most beautiful tits i ever saw.
snake-skin cowboy boots up to her knees
what can i do you for sweetheart? she asked with a lipstick-smeared cigarette in her mouth.
just looking for a place to rest my head.
the head needs rest does it?
she was high on some drug i really needed.
got any money on you sweetheart? she wanted to know, blowing that sweet tobacco smell in my face.
what's the damage?
she nodded to a sign that had $35 written on it with magic marker.
i pulled out my wallet, and she gently put her hand on it,
as to cover it.
there are other ways you can pay, she winked at me with fake eyelashes.
i gave her the 35 dollars - not without hesitation.
where'ya from anyway, stud?
Oslo, Norway, i told her, and her face lit up.
wow, that's in England isn't it?
yes i said
it sure is!

i spent that whole night regretting not fucking her.
and i never went to that topless bar.
in the morning, i dropped my key in the box and took off.
i tried to ignore her in my rearview-mirror. standing in that doorway,
smoking her cigarettes.
slowly lifting her arm in a sad goodbye.
but i was back on the road.
not a turn, not a dip.
still going,
almost straight ahead,
with some regret.

yes?

there are no standing at red lights,
waiting to cross the street.
what would i do with my hands?
those awkward rubber-strings
extending at great lengths from my shoulders.
there are no more walks outside,
in the light of day.
it hurts when people step on my shadow.
physically, i think.
mentally, perhaps?
there are thoughts sometimes,
at late nights,
of drowning my brain in formaldehyde.
through the glass-jar,
maybe it could see what's wrong with me.
but other times i'm fine, yes!
yes.
yes.
yes?
i'm just fine.

surprised

there are a lot of things to be said about looking in the mirror
i am not gonna say a lot about it
because i seldom feel the need to look at myself
but this morning, staring out a darkened window, my reflection appeared
it had a surprised look on it's face
i was surprised because my reflection had a full beard
i did not know that i had a beard
there are a lot of things to be said about beards
but i am not gonna say a lot about it
this beard is just my mental state manifesting itself
on my face

i am a maggot

many a late hour i cried for help.
when help arrived,
i screamed for it to leave.
there are lost verses to my childhood song.
adolescent years filled with a desperate wish to die.
as an adult i have been permanently intoxicated.
i am a maggot
leaving a slimy trail behind.
i move slow,
but the days move slower.
at thirty two, i feel old.
and i know now that if you try to fight time,
time will always win.
all i want is to be with the people i love,
all i want is to be alone.
in me is a deep-rooted contempt for wellness.
so is the nature of my illness.
it's an irrational fear,
but fear is fear - rational or not.
those glowing faces
with their yoga-mats and organic food.
those born again religious fanatics
with their scripture and judgement.
all this caring for life,
this want to live forever,
a strive for heaven.
well rounded, caring bastards.
get away from me with your talk!
secretly i want the world to go down in a global-warming, nuclear-blasting, balls out, fornicating, drug and alcohol induced coma inferno.
in me is a deep-rooted hate for most people.

wagon

on the wagon, off the wagon
driving the goddamn wagon off the road
and i woke up crying in that ditch
i tried sobriety
but there is a lot of shame leading down that path
these days i watch my beard grow
the string of confusing thoughts is stretching
a mind-fuck of disorganized pictures
underexposed faces, smiling
for what reason, i wonder?
that head-worm sucking me dry
i still get out of bed (most mornings)
to a soiree of boredom
a cocktail-party of great pretenders
what is the sum total?
i wish i was still in that ditch
crying my heart out
drunk

pee

standing still, there on the sidewalk
down on selma avenue.
legs wide apart
in a proud pose.
i didn't notice, until i got closer,
the dark wet spot blooming from his crotch
running down his left leg.
wow,
how i admired him.
his shameless demeanor,
this ability to let go.
i have tried for days now
to pee myself
with no success.

?

perhaps you noticed
being next to me
that i'm not really here
can you tell me when i left
can you tell me where i've gone
will i notice
that i'm next to you
what your answer is
if you even have one
does it matter
do we care
the days keep coming anyway
the days keep going
are we gone

painting

i used to paint
drag my body in wormlike contractions
across the pure white space
violating the canvas
body dripping with shameful colors
nuances of brown
i enjoyed the animalistic madness to this act
more than the paintings themselves
this was never about art
always desperation
i paint no more
these days i drink and vomit

blood out my ass

there i was
waiting for the right moment i guess
the other day blood poured out of my ass
my doctor used words
unfriendly to my ears
and i've felt old ever since
but then again
i felt old ever before
tired now
words hang from the corner of my mouth
drips like saliva down my chin
still bleeding on the inside
and the moment, i wonder
might have passed me by

let the wind decide

wish i had guns.
i would shoot them at all hours of the day
and feel high aiming at the sky.
i would never wear clothes again
my shotgun duct-taped to my leg.
just get drunk and smoke cuban cigars
whistle bluegrass tunes
and go on crazy rants.
the desert would be the place to be
and if someone trespasses
just bury them there.
no-one would like me
and that is just fine.
i'd write hateful words in the sand
and let the wind decide.