Kids in Florida

The Trials of Nuremberg

never slowed down the anguish

that man tried to pass on within a stepping stone

of dissociated guilt…

And if Buddha is your “thing”

Well then bow down to the chanting

harmony of want…

Do we ever climb into the space that

saves seventeen kids? Theorize what

agony is within our own little mind…

Prancing with false bravado…a

Twitter rant or faceboob comment about

how actors can play the role of deviant

political farce…

Then the sickening larva will

lick their glistening lips…looking

over the bodies of souls in camps or

step around the blood of a freshman band member…

Crying “the horror, the horror…” That was good

enough for Marlon Brando…but it could never

extinguish the rationalization of another, another

Pathetic look-away.

Dan Provost

Devout

At length

we are born to wonder…

My God is better

than yours—but,

in the end…the same place

will be dark…

Rancid…

Smelling of sweat.

Deep –we will think

for years, but settle

nothing…in failure

mode of whatever

sin may be in vogue

today…

Dan Provost

Jesus in the Garden

 Gethsemane…

You begged.

You failed.

Others have pleaded

on a smaller stage,

Maybe not with big

time consequences…

But tasted the poison too…

And they wanted to get out just

as much as you did…

When their sentence was announced

and the blood refused

to stop flowing…

All of you died…

Some with fanfare…

Others in fields in

the middle of nowhere…

Jesus…your morality is commendable

An unselfish spirt …

Who to some, was killed

for our sins…I just

know of others

who took the quiet

way out…No prayers

or books were written

about them…Some

pained faces, staring

into a faceless mirror…

Day after day after

day…

Dan Provost

             Over The Process

I ran amongst the best only to realize they were all worn out as me .

I made it to the front the best never concern themselves with what others are doing .

One day we sat amongst one another .
We were what most considered to be the standouts at what we did.

I still after all these years can't figure out what I do to begin with.


"Hey man great job on that last one I read fucking really made me laugh" .

Randy said to me in his usual laid back manner .

He had been at this as long as me.

It's just unlike me he had been knocking down doors and winning the race long before l even knew I was in the running .

"I appreciate it bud ".

Stan was silent .

Stanley was a far more polished writer than I.
And found success quickly and easily once made some fellow writer's hate him.

I didn't hate him I simply respected his gift and kept my distance .

To them both I was the freak of nature a worn out train wreck that could hold his own .

Crazy wasn't a act when it came to me .

I lived my work and most respected that although in my ever declining health they recognized a sinking ship for what it was .

We saw the kids catching up they flew by us as if they were really doing something .

Most made sure they said hello to Randy as they passed .

None said shit to me .

Most never understood the only true competition is ones self .
Not letting your ego override your ass .

I let the others chase their own tails  as I sat there in the sun relaxed not giving a single damn.


I was over the process long before I even began .

John Robbins

                Paint By Number

Beyond this page there is nothing more for you to see.
I bare no truths you cannot read .

I am miles and miles of pavement concrete and stone .
Broken bones mended now replaced by something far more brutal than you can comprehend.

Being tuff means nothing.
It is no badge of honor .
If you live to be seventy and never knew a ounce of pain then I believe you never lived a day in your life.

Pain is just something we cannot avoid .


I hate to tell you that.
I hate to be the one that admits the truth when so many rather protect you with a lie.

Don't chase dreams when you can have happiness instead.
Don't feed you ego's cravings to say your tougher than the rest.

Don't believe the bullshit in old westerns .

Death comes quickly for most and never soon enough for miserable fucks like me .

We all bare are scars .
Sometimes it really is best to leave well enough alone .

John Robbins

                               Pimple Popper

She always spent her nights watching pimple popping videos and sometimes she wondered why she was alone.
Some were small others looked like something out of B horror movie .
All filled with pus .

The woman who made the videos just kept talking like everything was normal as she squeezed and scraped out more and more from these people.

For her it was another day at the office and for my friend it was her entertainment .

She got me to watch a few with her my stomach turned as I fought of the urge to puke as we spoke on the phone .

It became a regular thing .

And I had to question her sanity but then I would have to look at myself in the process .

We talked every night as she sent video after video.

Most men wanted naked pictures I just wanted anything but to see another damn infected sore popped in front of my eyes.

The nights we didn't talk I really missed that woman .
Now every time I saw a zit I thought of her .

It was a strange relationship indeed .

John Robbins

The Page Won't Have Me

I was burnt out for months I was swinging for the fences and hitting them out of the park.

Then one day it happened.
I sat there hung-over feeling like shit I had a deadline, but I never worried over deadlines.

I stared at the page.

Nothing was there.

I once saw a highway now I simply saw a page with no direction.

I panicked.

It no longer was a hobby it was my job I swam with the sharks and now here I was standing upon the shore afraid to even dip my toes in the water.

What the fuck was happening!
I couldn't afford to choke and I wasn’t about to grant the wishes of those who yearned to see me fall flat on my ass.

We were about to face a drought.
And I was fucked in the worse way possible.

I found the nearest bar and vanished into a corner booth.
Maybe I was losing it finally.

People always leave.
The page never had.

The mental ward was always an option least there I could hide amongst the forgotten.

Everyone was lost far to deeply within themselves to give a damn about you.

I sat in front that page bottle in hand like some scalper waiting in line for hours just to get those tickets and make his hustle.

I sat there like some woman waiting for a man who was off enjoying his life while she wasted hers alone.


I needed a home and I needed a drink, the page stood before me like some tempting lover.

She knew I needed her she simply wasn’t having me tonight.

John Robbins