Twat the Bard

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"Shame Cage"

I abandoned my home
with a backpack full of empty shopping bags, 
five grams of dank weed,
and my dog. 

I was sick to my stomach 
because my anger gets the best of me.
All of the referees quit when I was 19 
and they only come back around 
when I’m in handcuffs. 

The animals always flock to me, 
maybe they know something that I don’t want to, 
they let me rub their bellies and feed them. 
I’m pretty sure that I need them 
and not the other way around. 

My upper layers frowned 
as my furrowed brow started sagging
and began to cover my whole face 
until nothing was left but 
a dream and a beast. 


"Vandal is as Vandal does"

The paint chips and ink fade
but the smell is imbedded in
alleyways in the back of my throat 
and my dreams and my nightmares.

One word is alive in my mind,
one name that I’ve adopted as mine.
You don’t need to know it’s me
when you see the writing on the wall
and the bus stop and the mailbox
and the dumpster and the… and the…

You don’t need to know it’s me
when you smell fresh paint like potpourri
in the air over these cryptic letters
I’ve left to better represent how I feel
about the walls you’ve built
to box in these wide open spaces.

You don’t need to know it’s me,
in fact I’d rather you not
because the the cops are hot to trot
and they wanna stop me.
Lock me away and melt the key,
no hope of getting off scot-free
or coppin’ a plea.

See, we’re on the run
because this rush is what runs us.
I don’t care about your shit
because I’ve got my own shit
to deal with.

A vandal’s eyes are always pried wide
looking for new spots to vandalize.
It might seem stupid to some
but vandal is as vandal does.

"And so was I"

I felt along the walls with my electric fingertips
as I stumbled down the dark corridor
between my heart and my head.

It was then and so was I.

My eyes don’t work as well as they used to,
but I’m pretty sure that I saw bright lights fly by
when I finally realized that all the time I’ve wasted
really is just wasted time.

It was then and so was I.

My head was spinning,
and my stomach was growling,
and the walls were closing in,
and it all felt like a set up.

Aug 9

"I Fell off of a Fence Today"

My bruises have bruises.
My grandmother says I am crazy.
I have a look in my eyes that is far beyond gazing.

I am older than ever and better now than never.
I am slowly building a bed I won’t lay in.
It feels amazing.

Aug 8

"Mermaid in the Basement"

I knew a fisherman
who kept a mermaid
locked in a tank in his basement.
He called it love. I called it sick,
hateful, abusive, and predictable.
Par for the course, of course
I can’t change the world
but sometimes when I
watched him changing
the water in her tank
I felt like an activist.

I’d hold her hand
and apologize for the things
that I’d never done.
I’d apologize for all the times
I never told him “Stop!
Can’t you see that this is sick?
Let her swim free and
if she wants to be yours
she’ll come back from the sea
to see only you.”
I felt like a voyeur.

I never told him
"You can’t make someone yours,
you never really own anything.
Even if you chain her to your wall,
put a ring on her finger,
put a chip under her skin,
and push your dick inside of her
but she’ll never be yours
unless she is.”

He never listened
to what I never said
and things went on
like that forever.

Aug 7

"Thought Monsoon"

I let my thoughts grow into a monsoon
far too often for my liking, but my liking
has always coincided with my bad timing. 

A lack of luck and minimal funds
has left my young criminal tongue
running my mouth like a machine gun
in hopes that I might reach one
or two of you.

I need to groom my mind and room
but every day I sit and stew
in bubbles of thought
as if I am not
just running
my own
thought
monsoon.

Aug 6

"This Poem is Bullshit"

Stale popcorn and tepid kool-aid are mixing in my mouth.
I am alone, except for the dog, and I am sore all over.

Today was a shit show.
I don’t know if I can ever
coax myself into going
back to work again.

I don’t know if I can ever
coax my back into
holding me upright again
without having a beer
dancing with my hands.

I can’t think of a way out,
I can’t find a decent job,
I have to take a piss,
and
I knew this poem was going to be bullshit
by the time I had finished writing
the first two lines.

Aug 5

"I Talk A Lot"

I’m not rambling and ranting for your benefit,
it’s just a defense mechanism.
I talk a lot.

You don’t have to listen,
you don’t even have to be here.
I’ll still talk a lot.

" I can hear you, I just don’t want to"

My ears have been blasted to hellhammer and back,
tinnitus hides in my head when I climb into bed,
and when you mumble at me I cannot hear you.

I’m not deaf, far from it, but my attention plummets
every time I ignore the grayscale tales you tuck
between the legs of my timetables.
I’m able to hear you but I don’t.
I won’t feel what you emote
because you don’t.

Clouds of pale smoke dance around the room,
wrapping around this mundane monsoon
of monotone gloom like a secondhand cocoon.
I could spoon-feed attention to your ego’s guillotine
while you say something to the effect of “ME! ME! ME!”
but I’d rather ignore you willingly and stare at the TV screen.

"Hair of the Dog"

This morning my dog watched with his nose
while I walked beside him like a bipedal monolith.
We are an odd couple. We are a couple of odd fellows.

The hair of the dog is all encompassing,
and I’m not talking about hangovers or booze.
We don’t care about you, we were born to bellow.

There’s no telling
how hard we’ll smile
when we’re on the loose.

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