was looking through poems to pick one for artbeat. found a bunch of old stuff i had forgotten about. dont worry- the first one is not about scott giles. the dudes name just happened to be scott. i had big plans for the second one. was gonna make it like an epic, but wasnt really happy with the way it was going and was too lazy to fix it or continue it. found some other ones that had some potential but once again, too lazy to edit. lol if its not perfect as soon as i write it i either just throw it away or let it rot. gonna start that next novel soon... real soon.





scott's a cop
but not really.
scott's a cop, so he gets free drinks and hot dogs.
except for that he's not really a cop.
scott's a cop
and shows off his gun
shows off his scowl
shows off his arrogant allknowing gait
except for the simple fact that hes not a cop.
scott's a security guard
but not really.
in that we dont pay him for security services rendered.
scott's a security guard and asks has there been any trouble tonight?
anything out of the ordinary?
has the pimp and ho been back?
how bout that big indian bum who harasses people on pump five?
those punk kids who stole that gum?
scott's our security guard
but we dont pay him a dime.
scott's our security guard
because he wants to be and no one has told him otherwise.
scott loves his handcuffs.
pull them out to show bums asleep in the alley.
pulls them out to show 16 year olds trying to buy smokes.
scott really loves his gun.
caresses it.
fondles it.
unbuttons the holster strap then buttons it back.
over and over.
scott makes me incredibly uncomfortably nervous with that gun.
scott moonlights as a fugitive recovery agent.
he's got some good leads on a deadbeat dad who's trying to skip bail.
heard from a pretty reliable source that the guy's been crashing over in the apartments on 47th.
scott's got a pretty good feeling he'll show tonight.
scott's gonna reel 'em in.
scott's a fugitive recovery agent
and wears the shirt and badge to prove it to your lame ass.
scott's a fugitive recovery agent
and reminds you to call him anytime of day or night if there's a ruckus.
scott's got your back.
says he can get here faster than the police.
scott cant get enough of dog the bounty hunter.
just plain loves the man.
cant stop talking about him.
thinks it's a damn shame the media is bringing him down over one moment of weakness.
after all the great things dog has done to keep bad guys off the streets.
one slip up and they bury him.
scott will tell you this while your trying to ring up 25 dollars worth of cheetos and redbulls.
scott's a fugitive recovery agent
who loves to chase off loiterers yet tends to a lot of loitering himself.
scott's says he used to be a cop.
is working towards it again.
just cant freaking wait to get his hands on some bad guys.









having heard the children
laughing giggling leaping
towards tomorow

having blazed trails through the sierra madre
with shovel and pickaxe

sipped chai smoked cloves
over conversations
of this generation

having taken lunch in a deer bed
wondering why do they run
why do we run

having poured concrete and asphalt
all over boulevards avenues streets terraces circles drives

having sweat the sweat of our grandfathers
cried the tears of our grandmothers
feeling the wind blow blow blow

having wandered the brazos
trying not to just know
trying not to try
trying to be

having always had a hard time
telling the difference
with the realities of my mind
and the realities of reality

been employed by a taskmaster
with an evilly twitching left eye
and the maniacally smug grin of satan

formed twig figure haikus
scribbled sandswept sonnets
dreamt more novels than nightmares

listened to bob marley
sing sing sing
of the zion
just up the hill

hitched a ride
flatbed chickentruck
through the ozarks
looking looking looking
for the stream of tranquility
thought it ripe for wading

shared loaves of bread and bags of potatoes
with roaches and mice
we're all just trying to survive

having heard the rustling of raccoons and skunks
not just hoping but swearing they be
bobcats mountain lions pumas

ran through tacobell 3 am
looking for the angelhaired hipsters
looking for the red wheelbarrow by the chickens

climbed to the tops of oak trees
both by thirty minute climbs
and sitting on an acorn

shouted angry warnings at god
from seven eight nine story
apartment buildings

sat crosslegged in drum circles
trying to get the rhythm
trying to know syncopated time

chased tornadoes
from perryton to paducah
dodging debris
to get on film

having taken handouts at appropriate times
been to prideful at others
been grateful either way

taken part in the greatest love
human or otherwise
in all of recorded history

having peed in the mississippi
wondered how far could it go

taken a paycheck to the casino
been hungry the next week
but had a damn good time

having never been an eagle scout
never been a republican
never quite reached up to the poverty line
and never been completely unhappy

smoked tuesdays cigarettes on monday
drank tuesdays milk on thursday
always finding the way
to eek it out til friday

rode the nine bus
through sunshine
through rainstorms
through traffic jams
through tomorrows
felt the brokenness of the faces
hit me like a ten ton fucking anvil

having mothflame visions
of mounting failures
dissolving into vast quicksand deserts
giving way to flowering cacti
scurrying lizards
swift footed wanderers

showered in bathroom gas stations
eaten like a king in continental breakfasts
found futons on highways
free half funnel cakes in renfair trash cans

rode shotgun in a grain combine in iowa
with predawn daystarts
open skies
and swearing
if only for a second
to catching a whif of seasalt air

walked in others shoes
saw what they saw
felt what they felt
dreamed what they dreamed

swung barefoot from birch trees
picked blackberries til stuffed
drank from crystal springs
skipped rocks by moonlight

embraced.