It occurs to me I'd rather have,
Somewhere else to go.
Somewhere sacred and windy,
Sanctified. Not this cafe.

Wanting to be free of my own life,
A freak in that sense.
Crazy eyes. Wild, drug-
crazed.

My life is a prison. My head,
Is four walls of a cell,
And saying so don't make it,
Any other way.

There's a clown in me, that wants
to bring laughter to faces,
and music and trust. Not,
The rifle and its ten cartridges.

What happened today?
It didn't seem so different.
I awoke afraid, clutching,
Sheets to my body for warmth.

And i opened the letter.
The indictment.
The hand grenade, that you,
My enemy sent for my betrayal.

I made eye contact with,
A little black dog.
And I wanted to,
Start a family.

But it was intercepted,
By good people, who take
every damn thing,
To sustain their goodness.

(I wrote this in the winter of 2000. Don't remember anything else)