That is not his real name
he never had one, not one we could pronounce
maybe it was the sound of gunshots
or the snorting of coke, that could have been
a good first name

…my gun at my side
does nothing to hide
the fear and loathing
behind these eyes…

asshole, lazy good-for-nothing,
the swish of window rubber
ripped for discipline, hot
putrid rummy breath slurs the
sacrament of a middle name
in his direction, he is twelve

…stumbling slow, mumbling low
I teeter over to my bar
against which principles
have been marked afar…

he shows the girl what he has learned
and she will never know how desperate
he is to show his love innocently,
he has not been innocent since
he was six, no body to any one

…talk of rape, of chemical escape
of terrifying moments
born of hate, of choices taken
and paths abandoned, of friends
lost, traded, left, stranded…

today is tomorrow is
the day before, roots of mayan
astronomy, yet the calendar
holds no meaning,
sun, moon, strobe light,
florescent morse code with no meaning
that lays him upon this waking life

…I wish things were more inline
with what appears a life untwined…

with rain collecting in his pockets
washing out the blood, god’s tears
mixing with perspiring tequila and a
wonder at how remarkably lucid
the ghosts appear the closer he gets to
a state of normality

…I try to explain why I get twisted
attempts to forget the lives I’ve lifted…

he trades his name like extra
baseball cards, wrapped in stolen
rubber bands, a plate face melting
even under a midnight sun -
fingers permanently stained
in faded green, black ink,
and dead presidents with forlorn
disapproval under hooded eyes

…face doughy and mean
rough hands hewn and lean
who sees the boy I could have been
tucked safely in the folds
of loose dollar bills
and grimy clothes…

answers seem to find their way
into a hammer forged barrel that plays
vaudeville with him the dummy,
and he is speaking to us all
violently screaming his dismay

…I show my gun
I wave it round
there’s no one
not backing down…

he looks at me
through blood rimmed eyes
he pleads, he begs,
he whimpers in sighs
his eyes close slow
as mine awake
a demon pair upon the make

…when looking at the barrel
I see, all tears and sorrow
pleading with me,
at the end of this reign, a curved stone
I will die, un-mourned, upon this throne…

I have nothing left, no dignity, no pride
I have been erased watching this boy play man
abandoned by us all, we feed him fear
and then wonder why that is all we get
in return, no humanity here, no names
so I call him Aaron, say a quip prayer to the god
of lost souls and lay me down to sleep

…no kings in hell
I’ve always known
this ride will end, the street my home
a dream of kindness, a moment to spend,
there will never be, a dear, dear friend.