For you and only you to see

Alley way
painted in orange
street light,

cars on either side
sleepy, still

poem painted in still life

there's not much going on,

except, a figure in black
sneaking between cars,
he's knelt down, peers above
car hoods, into windows,
tries each lock, finds one
he likes, eases himself in,
hunched over in the front seat,
he's rocking almost imperceptibly,
sound of car starting shatters
night silence, the car rolling,
no lights, turns out slowly
on to one way street and gone,

alley silent again,

one extra light flicks on,

man appears, leans out, disappears inside,

feet on apartment steps,

the moon isn't visible from where I sit.

Tom

There's a zombified boy
trying to slander my name,
He's got the valedictorian honors
on his honest fascist coat
looking out his high school
cell bars,

He's gonna claim
that prophesied
yuppy job in the mind
frame part of town,
it's to pay the rent on
the societal zoo,
the believe, the brave, the blue,

He's gonna quote those
sellout heroes & uncle toms
stereotypical one-liners
who kept their heads down,
he's gonna believe what he's told
in the square city, the squat roofs,
he's stealing my name and casting
it among the silver polished tools,
the wastes, the blind men,
following the crowd,
the CNN mentality liberal leftist
philosophy,
dragging pearly mud
in on his pearly feet,

He's been breed to erase me
in mediocrity, with obedience,
and soiled crotch,

I am an abomination
he's the american dream,

I say too much,
he's perfect,
he thinks too little.