robbing peter to pay paul


wasn't that  a 
               western?

not in  my house
where things  were built
to last  like 
               poverty

my low  self esteem was
the only  currency valued
                          here

my father's  eyes gleaming
the sun's  insecurity was
my only  form of
                 yoga

i've never  known true
relaxation the  restless
heart i   pray i
never
       will

dreaming i  saw it
on the  side of 
a pittsburgh  transit bus
sam peckinpah   was here 
like the   ghost holding 
the remote   in my 
father's still  living
                        hand

his typewriter  keys were
always here  in spirit
to sing  me to
                sleep

whispering "the   little boy
inside you  still weeps  
rivers for  a lullaby  of      
                          bones"

hoove prints  by my
bedside a  map to
places i  could never
seem to 
        remember

i'd always   wake up 
thinking "shit   why must 
i always   be sleeping 
when the   magic
                 happens"

John Dorsey