Living in a Shotgun Shack

Too tired for anything else but drafts made on the table of freshly snorted cocaine residue in a small hotel room in Oklahoma City, this will be brief, two drafts and a power outage are cutting into my time, have to sleep, have not a had good night sleep in months, falling apart, take this as a rain check, thx.

Racing Heart

racing heart
disturbs me at night
sleep
not so easy
worry
about what
imagination
lets run loose in my mind
heading directly to the heart
the left shoulder
the slowly curling up fingers
days
move
amongst the wind blown leaves
never
enough time
to relax
sleeping at work
minding the store
expansion
eating a meal
taking a shower
cleaning the house
feeding the pets
gives me
other things
to think about
instead of this
erractic heart
breathe
be calm
smile
knowing
that you want
to give up and die
letting go of the pain
without a fight
as
the poison
exits
my body
in a detox
slave driven
bargain with the devil


The High Price of Beer

office day
ordered in
the drinks that is
in order
to stay off the roads today
closed the blins
made some phones calls
battling with cheap television producers
for my wages
while whittling away time
the rest of my day
on the internet
thought about sleep
but more about drinking
like a habit
a need
a commitment
I can afford
good beer now
some accomplishment

Carvinal Dreams

even after everyone
has prepared to go home
the sounds of slot machines
can be heard
echoing like that pop song
play thousands of times
over the pop music airwaves
the weekend has ended
exhaustion
contemplation
and disgust
wear like thick iron masks
on most of these passengers
waiting for their planes
in their minds
revolve
the constant cadence
of some last minute sucker
pressing a button
on one of the machines
in the airport terminal
like an over stimulated rat
as the machine plays
in a carnival like symphony
just like the ice cream man
who can't resist that song
instant feel good memories
slow that damn truck down
so I can get my sugar fix on
click
click
click
slot machine reels
fall into place
small winners
mostly losers
sitting amongst me this morning
as I wait for my flight out
for work
the credits
always run out
as all the other tourists
load up on
food
souveniers
and tabloid mags
sunday football
blackjack
an all night clubbing
are merely
moments in time now
as reality
of life back at home
slowly
works it way past
the booze
the fatigue
still
people show up
week after week
for the last fifteen years
I have lived in Las Vegas
the thought
of being a winner
never grows old
motivating
even the most destitute
to try their luck
which
continues to be bad
as the ever rising
skyling
on the strip
no doubt reflects.

Santana

Santana
guitar riffs of fire
melting down the venue tonight
percussion
hurricane force
rising
building
like a volcanic explosion
a man who
was there back when it mattered
has seen music change
so radically
over his career
yet maintained
command
and the nuturing
of an inner spirit
that posesses
his soul
playing his guitar
with colors of sound
even in shaman animal spirits
textures in the sky
a tone
to make Eric Clapton
envious
this man is timeless
like Beethoven
magically smooth
then explosive
within one song
from acid
to the internet
albums to MP3's
Santana
has evolved
beyond
the normal arc
of musical structure
even his old music
is futuristic
a cross pollenation
of musical culture
spanning the globe
out into the universe
to watch him play
has lasting meaning
posterity
some day will
be without him
and for those
who witnessed his greatness
they shall be envied
indeed

Bulletproof

Is this how
I treat
the ones
I love
shit on them
sell them the same lie
again and again
watch
them walk away
in handcuffs
because
my decision making
in on par
with a juvenile delinquent
who?
choose me
to be this
brave matador
living in some
movie of the week
while
others
suffer
real pain
true emotion
I feel
it now too
through them
suffering
due
to my actions
all I can say
is I hope
those loved ones
are doing well
inspite
of my prescence
in their lives at one time
this story
is not fiction
the effects of some
psuedo
rehearsed reaction
no
this may not
be
the end of the fun
but
hell
when
did it
start
to rule
my life

work
is crazy enough
surrounding myself
with an
army of lunatics
who could
over throw
any government

events
have hit me extra hard
this time
maybe
I am
not
as bulletproof
as everyone
thinks
as immoral
uncaring
caught up
in this viscious cycle
that serves up
some great writing
but who
is controlling who
having been transformed
into a bulldozer of art
one day
I will
have to come clean
either
in prison
or by death
my love
for humanity
life
and the future
makes
everything
so interesting
so special
so unique
whether
it is people
places
things
an most of all myself
yet
the vehicle
Antony Miller
is not
just some
empty vessel
there is real spirit
behind
this animal
why
do I feel
like everybody
thinks
this is my destiny
as some
low rent
bad boy
what a joke
I am a punch line
for drunken conversation
I want out of this game
this appointment
building a foundation
a dark empty house of skeletons
that scares me
tells me to destroy it
without
anything
readily available
to replace it
so the juggling
goes on
happiness
for others
foriegn to me
is the only solution
exile
from the amusement park
for now
forever
but
at this moment
the pain
is my theater
a life
like a canvas
where
the flames
slowly converge
from the opposite
sides
of my mind
scorching the surface
until
nothing exists