To all the scum of the earth
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
some people might throw up their hands or
stomachs in disgust when I read my words out
loud,
they attribute the tenor of my writers voice to be
foul of grace and beauty
leaving corpses and beer bottles scattered like trash
on the lawn,
but I am of the people of the fray--we are earth's
painful groaning and bleeding
revolting against the puree of judgmental bullshit
that slides off the tongues of the frightened well-healed,
we are not afraid
we are not brave or courageous or filled with visions
of greatness,
just conditioned to the madness of living in project war zones
and urban undergrounds that protect us from those that
protect and serve,
no cop ever brought good news to my door,
only warrants, questions, suspicions, humiliation and pain, sadist with
badges and righteous faith in their righteous pursuit of
the pagan poor--my conversion notwithstanding,
chaos in an up-side-down cake world
where detection is greater than the crime, we tread at night
down hidden paths barely covered by the yellow tint of the
parking lot crime lights,
but I'm writing to you fucks with the guts to read what
bleeds from my pen, to all the men who got fucked in the ass
before they were in first grade,
to all the drunks and addicts who lost their husbands or wives, at least once,
to all the hustlers that just want to make a buck and trust the bed
they sleep in,
to all the hookers that eat morphine and drink vodka to kill the pain
of living,
to all the bartender priests that hear confessions nightly and give absolution
before the light of day,
to all the scum of the earth--they're the only ones that count.
J. Masuda © 2005
stomachs in disgust when I read my words out
loud,
they attribute the tenor of my writers voice to be
foul of grace and beauty
leaving corpses and beer bottles scattered like trash
on the lawn,
but I am of the people of the fray--we are earth's
painful groaning and bleeding
revolting against the puree of judgmental bullshit
that slides off the tongues of the frightened well-healed,
we are not afraid
we are not brave or courageous or filled with visions
of greatness,
just conditioned to the madness of living in project war zones
and urban undergrounds that protect us from those that
protect and serve,
no cop ever brought good news to my door,
only warrants, questions, suspicions, humiliation and pain, sadist with
badges and righteous faith in their righteous pursuit of
the pagan poor--my conversion notwithstanding,
chaos in an up-side-down cake world
where detection is greater than the crime, we tread at night
down hidden paths barely covered by the yellow tint of the
parking lot crime lights,
but I'm writing to you fucks with the guts to read what
bleeds from my pen, to all the men who got fucked in the ass
before they were in first grade,
to all the drunks and addicts who lost their husbands or wives, at least once,
to all the hustlers that just want to make a buck and trust the bed
they sleep in,
to all the hookers that eat morphine and drink vodka to kill the pain
of living,
to all the bartender priests that hear confessions nightly and give absolution
before the light of day,
to all the scum of the earth--they're the only ones that count.
J. Masuda © 2005