turlock

presence of soft wind as you

walk across the sidewalk.

the police are out like wolves, ready

to hurt you more

then the thieves.

I finish my cigarette,

flick it into the window of a parked

police car.

you can't blame the police,

they have love, life,

and maybe something to come home to
at the end of the night.

they are the sober ones,

the rightfully right and

rightfully so.

I wanted to be one for so long,
but now I'm wild,
with the glass in my eyes and
unblinking.

the quiet ones,
these are the ones you have to worry about.

their is a recklessness when their is no fear,

when their is no love.

I'm out of cigarettes with no I.D. in

a strange town

2 hours east of San Francisco.

I find a liquor store,

walk inside and terrorize a small lady

for a pack of cigarettes.

I kick over a trash-can,
walk past the same police car and smile.

they will not remember me in a strange town