I wrecked my bike today,
red the gravel gray,
blood from my knee,
on my leg you could see,
from almost a mile away.
"The War of Ben Franklin"
Spend nights trying to make something sadder in writing,
invisible war it's myself who I'm fighting,
it's so dark as I bathe in the lightning,
thundering outside but a genius is kiting.
"Demand is High"
Little pad of paper pen,
write a poem again again,
no one reads them still I write,
deny the sleep electric light.
"Two Unhappy, Too Unhappy"
Ideal house, ideal town, unknown fate, well known frown,
long grown hair, falling out, unknown goal, ten's the count,
unknown man, "who cares" job, neat at work, at home a slob,
lives alone, little dog, to work he runs, most days in smog,
two men oh no, they're one the same, in childhood both dreamed of fame,
whatever they try they can do, or so you think, but you're still you.
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