Post by dog on Feb 16, 2007 0:43:06 GMT -6
straightaway road ending in a circle
a hangman's noose it resembles
surface pitted and pocked with potholes,
some craterous in depth and width
could easily swallow a car tire
a street of lost dreams
and the cooling leftovers of humanity trapped
in miserous poverty and dysfunction there
regard the house so much junk and trash
on the porch you wonder how the pack
of tweekers that live there open the front door
to entrance their home the driveway and the side
of the property littered with enough barely
running cars and the gutted remains
of vehicles to start a small wrecking yard
across the street from them
live the other pack of tweekers
so paranoid they erected a barracks
style fence of wooden planks that stands
eight feet tall to hide their picked and scabbed
faces behind from the world at small and large
the tweeker women, young, old or in between
emaciated they look like victims of anorexia
even the younger ones look like they're pushing
old age hard looks of bitterness and rage
suffusing their pallid, scab scarred features
on down the road a house or two
there lives the odd couple round as they are tall
with the bulbous noses and red faces of hard drinkers
often one or the other seen passed out on a swing
or lying flat of their back on the front lawn
spreadeagled mouth opened wide vulture fodder
their sons known as the sniffers in the neighborhood
for their penchant for bagging inhaling the fumes
of spray paint and chemicals from plastic sandwich sacks
there lives the man whom considers himself something
on the street of lost dreams and the leftover
remains of walking bags of shit without brains
he's got a little more money than the rest
but, he's been seen himself in plain view
drunkenly holding his fence up pissing against it
like a stray male dog without better sense
over there lives the girl
whose mother was the biggest tweeker
of all a crackhead living with another kind
of junkie's dream a meth lab chef that cooked
night and day scenting the thick hot summer air
with the acrid scent of ammonia and chemicals
on the street is it any wonder her mother's daughter
was molested and raped from the time
she was six by her mother's adult male friends?
mother was to busy cracking and cranking mind blown
clean away to care what happened to her baby girl
been had by every baby boy in the neighborhood too
since she moved there at six years old
and over there live the cat people
called such as fifty cats or more
prowl round the exterior of their home
it's rumored the father raped all three of his daughters
and you used to could hear them screaming
leave me alone leave me alone
when their mother wasn't home
he's in good company as on down the road
apiece, lives another wrinkled demon,
who's stepdaughter says he raped her
and it's not a rumor she'll tell anyone
that will listen but her mother never listened
to her leaving her home alone while she ran a bar
with the sick monster her daughter called father
at least three houses of young couples
often getting into physical tussles
and shouting matches on their front lawns
entertainment to turn the voyuers in the neighborhood on
herds of screaming toddlers running round their collective
parents' shuffling kicking striking feet
over there lives the crazy woman you hardly see her
unless she's coming or going she keeps her drapes
drawn tight and she only comes out in her yard
at night to wander beneathe the stark moonlight
but in the spring she's out at dawn working
in her flower beds but her back is always
turned to the street so it's hard to look
at her face into her deep sad eyes
it's said the man that lives with her owns her
she's little more than property and in the spring
you can hear him screaming as much when the windows
are pulled up to let in the temperate breeze
i own you bitch you're not allowed to have a thought
in your head it's my way or the highway and you don't
have a pot to piss in or a place to go nobody wants you
anymore than i do i just happen to be stuck with you
you uppity whore no man wants a woman with a fucking
brain women are for one thing dicking and dicking again
occasionally you'll see the neighborhood tramp
a miniscule, wizened mexican with a pronounced limp
offering to do odd jobs for the odd dollar or two
the odd bump or two if he's working for the tweekers
the odd pack of cigarettes or bottle of booze
if he's working for the odd couple perhaps
a sandwich and six pack of diet coca-cola
if he's working for the holy roller couple
raking lawns planting flower bulbs
and seedlings or burning leaves
and trash before spending
the evening curled under
the bridge up the highway
unless the tweekers
let him sleepover
that's some of the inhabitants
trapped on the straightaway road
ending in a circle
a hangman's noose it resembles
surface pitted and pocked with potholes,
some craterous in depth and width
could easily swallow a car tire
a street of lost dreams
and the cooling leftovers
of humanity trapped in miserous
poverty and dysfunction
and i've not even mentioned
the dogs of which am i one that live
in the neighborhood it's dog eat dog
on this street and everything else
is just another day in a white trash neighborhood
a hangman's noose it resembles
surface pitted and pocked with potholes,
some craterous in depth and width
could easily swallow a car tire
a street of lost dreams
and the cooling leftovers of humanity trapped
in miserous poverty and dysfunction there
regard the house so much junk and trash
on the porch you wonder how the pack
of tweekers that live there open the front door
to entrance their home the driveway and the side
of the property littered with enough barely
running cars and the gutted remains
of vehicles to start a small wrecking yard
across the street from them
live the other pack of tweekers
so paranoid they erected a barracks
style fence of wooden planks that stands
eight feet tall to hide their picked and scabbed
faces behind from the world at small and large
the tweeker women, young, old or in between
emaciated they look like victims of anorexia
even the younger ones look like they're pushing
old age hard looks of bitterness and rage
suffusing their pallid, scab scarred features
on down the road a house or two
there lives the odd couple round as they are tall
with the bulbous noses and red faces of hard drinkers
often one or the other seen passed out on a swing
or lying flat of their back on the front lawn
spreadeagled mouth opened wide vulture fodder
their sons known as the sniffers in the neighborhood
for their penchant for bagging inhaling the fumes
of spray paint and chemicals from plastic sandwich sacks
there lives the man whom considers himself something
on the street of lost dreams and the leftover
remains of walking bags of shit without brains
he's got a little more money than the rest
but, he's been seen himself in plain view
drunkenly holding his fence up pissing against it
like a stray male dog without better sense
over there lives the girl
whose mother was the biggest tweeker
of all a crackhead living with another kind
of junkie's dream a meth lab chef that cooked
night and day scenting the thick hot summer air
with the acrid scent of ammonia and chemicals
on the street is it any wonder her mother's daughter
was molested and raped from the time
she was six by her mother's adult male friends?
mother was to busy cracking and cranking mind blown
clean away to care what happened to her baby girl
been had by every baby boy in the neighborhood too
since she moved there at six years old
and over there live the cat people
called such as fifty cats or more
prowl round the exterior of their home
it's rumored the father raped all three of his daughters
and you used to could hear them screaming
leave me alone leave me alone
when their mother wasn't home
he's in good company as on down the road
apiece, lives another wrinkled demon,
who's stepdaughter says he raped her
and it's not a rumor she'll tell anyone
that will listen but her mother never listened
to her leaving her home alone while she ran a bar
with the sick monster her daughter called father
at least three houses of young couples
often getting into physical tussles
and shouting matches on their front lawns
entertainment to turn the voyuers in the neighborhood on
herds of screaming toddlers running round their collective
parents' shuffling kicking striking feet
over there lives the crazy woman you hardly see her
unless she's coming or going she keeps her drapes
drawn tight and she only comes out in her yard
at night to wander beneathe the stark moonlight
but in the spring she's out at dawn working
in her flower beds but her back is always
turned to the street so it's hard to look
at her face into her deep sad eyes
it's said the man that lives with her owns her
she's little more than property and in the spring
you can hear him screaming as much when the windows
are pulled up to let in the temperate breeze
i own you bitch you're not allowed to have a thought
in your head it's my way or the highway and you don't
have a pot to piss in or a place to go nobody wants you
anymore than i do i just happen to be stuck with you
you uppity whore no man wants a woman with a fucking
brain women are for one thing dicking and dicking again
occasionally you'll see the neighborhood tramp
a miniscule, wizened mexican with a pronounced limp
offering to do odd jobs for the odd dollar or two
the odd bump or two if he's working for the tweekers
the odd pack of cigarettes or bottle of booze
if he's working for the odd couple perhaps
a sandwich and six pack of diet coca-cola
if he's working for the holy roller couple
raking lawns planting flower bulbs
and seedlings or burning leaves
and trash before spending
the evening curled under
the bridge up the highway
unless the tweekers
let him sleepover
that's some of the inhabitants
trapped on the straightaway road
ending in a circle
a hangman's noose it resembles
surface pitted and pocked with potholes,
some craterous in depth and width
could easily swallow a car tire
a street of lost dreams
and the cooling leftovers
of humanity trapped in miserous
poverty and dysfunction
and i've not even mentioned
the dogs of which am i one that live
in the neighborhood it's dog eat dog
on this street and everything else
is just another day in a white trash neighborhood
