Broken Pencil

Here is a broken, pointless pencil:
Graphite and splinters and severed potential.
Can't sketch a face or shade in a stencil;
Inert yellow stick from a former writing utensil.

My brain's up on blocks like a car with no wheels,
It only knows what it knows when it feels what it feels.
I keep burning the gas and keep feeding the meals,
But the only thing moving is the rust climbing steel.

I miss cigarettes for their burning expression
Of distaste for this life's cyclic progression:
Down and then up and then sideways back into depression.
I once spilled my disdain in sparked tobacco confession.

Determination, courage, faith, destiny:
These must become something more than just words to me--
Concepts that I cling to out of desperate necessity
To keep me alive until I recover the rest of me.

Haiku Factory

What follows is no less than the greatest haiku I have heard in years:

Help me! I am trapped
In a haiku factory!
Save me! Before they

Chicago

I've got a lot of living to do
And it can be hard to know where to start.
I haven't seen your new hairdo yet,
But I'm sure that it will break my heart.
All I wanted was to hold you,
But you won't tell me how.
Tenderness is what I feel for you,
But that's not what you need right now.

The irony of cheesy love songs 
Is they can't melt the hearts that they're aimed at,
And I've yet to read any dusty volume
Or study that might help to explain that.
I live my life as a punk at a time
When punks are no longer chique,
But inside I'm just a sappy old fool
With a beat-up guitar and knees that go weak.

I can't even write a song for you--
I didn't bring my guitar here with me.
And it's not right to write about a singer
When I don't have an ear for melody.
So please forgive my transgression
And this inappropriate epithet:
You're so damn beautiful that it makes me angry,
And don't want you ever to forget...

The Secret Parade

The Secret Parade

Come on down to the secret parade;

It's a carnival most clandestine,

So sneak away and join us if you think

That sounds interesting.

Wolves and pigs alike are prepared

To pinch us for protesting,

But we’ve slipped the trap—it’s their own fat

That they’ll be left digesting.

The furtive festivities will have covert catering.

The samizdat symphony will provide the score.

And stealthy seamstresses have been tailoring

Cushions to keep the sound beneath the floor.

So come on down to the secret parade,

Join our surreptitious celebration!

Come listeners, laughers, and layabouts.

No need for deductible donations:

We’re sometimes broke, but always wealthy

In ways that defy taxation;

We’ve revived our loves and our lives

In this off-the-books ovation.

The military police crash in and find no one to arrest.

The focus-groupers float in and find no market left to test.

Public relations falls purposeless with no people to deceive,

And the elected officials discover there are no lemmings left to lead.

We’ve all gone down to the secret parade;

Melted away through hole-and-corner.

Fixers, fakers, and fat-cats all flummoxed

With no one there to hear their orders.
We vanished deftly through the vines;
We find fear-mongering a bore.

We’ve all gone down to the secret parade,

And we don’t need them anymore!

Not For Me

Not For Me

Ducked through the doorway, escaping the rain,

An empty movie house across from Broadway and Main.

Sticky floor, stale popcorn, and rows of empty seats,

There’s no one else around, so I put up my feet.

And looking up, I see:

Adventure, romance, and comic relief,

A hero’s daring rescue, somehow bloodless and brief,

A thrilling tale of terror that always ends happily,

But not for me.

Sleep, can I beg you to come here for me?

No, you just giggle as you dance out of reach.

Your little starfeet have kicked away the key,

And long, cold iron makes the cell complete.

And it’s built for me.

Sunshine just slid out through the holes in my face,

Now it’s dashing down the drain and searching for a better place,

Where the gentle radiation of a pretty girl’s smile lights the scene.

But it’s not for me,

I’ve read the name on the packaging.

It would be wrong to take what belongs

From the vessel where it’s plain to see:

It’s not for me.

Sunshine just slid out through the holes in my face,

Now it’s dashing down the drain and searching for a better place,

Where good fortune is a beacon just inside of where my eyes can reach,

But it’s not for me.

Listerane

Listerane

By S.E. Erwin, 2015

With an all-star pitcher's wind-up

I threw it all to hell.

I'm still alive, and that's all I mean

When I say I'm doing well.

Cakewalk Kitty is prancing slow

Right through the center of town,

And a thousand popping pill bottles

Surround her feet along the ground.

She had a tear in her front pocket

With a book of thoughts inside,

And she had the nerve to tell me

That both God and Disney lied.

Her fingers touched piano keys

With grace and sweet finesse,

But her fist unhinged my jaw

The time I asked to hear the rest.

I've waited my whole life to find

A girl as angry and bitter as me,

But like healthcare in America

Her love don't come for free.

She says:

"I asked to be shown the meaning of enlightenment,

And I was given LSD.

I asked to be shown the meaning of true love,

And I was given Listerine."

She says:

"This fair trade coffee just gives me the shits

I can't stand these twits who think buying more shit's

Gonna lend a hand to helping save the world 

While I'm lying in the gutter and my body is curled

Around the wound in my bank account.

I can't stanch the bleeding long enough to get out.

No reason to adapt to smarter living,

Because I've stumped E-Harmony's algorithm.

"They want to keep us up in the bars all night.

No threat of revolution: Too hung-over to fight.

We're committing suicide through recreation;

Living blind in a world of cyber-creation.

But I've seen beauty--It's not what they're selling!

I know a few things--That's not truth they're telling!

Packed fake "happiness" into a little white pill,

But I won't swallow what doesn't feel real!"

I asked to be shown the meaning of enlightenment...

And I was given LSD.

I asked to be shown the meaning of true love...

And I was given Listerine.

Westlake, Part I

Westlake, Part I

by S.E. Erwin & C. Baird, 2015

 It's hardly a crime

To feel alone all the time

And start measuring life

In cigarettes and wine.

I need to know things are going to be normal again.

I need to know everything's gonna be okay,

That you've grown stronger through this unholy load

Of shit the world has just sent your way.

This I thought as I held your cold hand,

So scared because your face was so gray.

The doctors say that you are resting now,

So this I thought, but I did not say.

 It's hardly a crime

To feel alone all the time

And start measuring life

In cigarettes and wine.

From the phone in the waiting room I placed a call,

Asking Peter at the switchboard to put me through.

"Is the big guy around? It's kind of important..."

"It's awful busy up here... we'll get back to you..."

When the message comes, they know where to find me:

Beside your bed, pointlessly smoothing your hair,

Drinking bad coffee (three sugars, no cream),

And wishing I was stronger than what landed you there.