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Dave Streett Poem
You’ll wanna forget, but I’ll sell your kisses for a bag and a rig.
My glory rides on a brick and a gram
You’ll never get more then half my mind.
I’ll eat ya to put you to sleep
Cause my dick won’t step up half the time.
Your eyes shut to tapping my vein
Dancing through shards of moonlight, emptying your purse.
I can score while your searching your plastic case for your pretty face.
Sweet poems and construction paper cards were pregame.
Now I finger through your parents drawers, quarter rolls are good enough.
Do you still crave me babe?
How’s third place, my two best buds a needle away?
Even when my eyes aren’t dotted up it isn’t fair.
Just a routine, credit card debt and jail don’t scare.
With me we’re always in the midst of thunder
Recoveries pink clouds in front but out of grasp.
Absence of luck permits you to hang on to my spirit embezzling tears.
I’ll be smiling at the freedom, Ignoring your texted stabs.
Long sleeves and 50 hour work weeks fooled your parents, but
The mirrors sunken and pale my features lost to warmth artificial from my heart.
Everything is gonna be cool as long as no one sees my arms.
Penniless, I’ll dissolve all my cravings under my tongue… for a week.
Steaks marinated in Pabst followed by talks of your creation.
We can lay in bed alll day watching Hulu and melting time.
For once I’ll be all your’s no more rocks disrupting my brain.
As soon as pay day hits I’ll sprint out the front door.
Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2011
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Dave Streett Poem
I’ve traded my final smiles for a rock and a rush..
Shooting my veins for death at thirty five.
last chance to steal a detox from the county cause
Everyone knows government checks don’t bounce.
Instead I wanna follow the needles of street lights all the way to winter haven Fla.
Pittsburgh Dirt tells me the sun there melts your skin
Maybe I can drip on top of a burnt spoon,
And all the sick junkies can draw me through their cottons..
I’d do it you know, be a martyr,
No more mom’s dreaming, then touching caskets.
I wish I knew who crawled through my ear and blanketed my conscience.
Sarah R couldn’t uncover it, and she was 5-7 with C’s and a fastball.
Her prays linger, bounce off the ceiling fans arms.
Expectations hang framed on my bedroom wall, It reads university of Pittsburgh.
My four cornered nightmare. Do they still believe I can stop, forever, I cant; fathom a
month..
Blood actually runs clean through me today, but that doesn’t change desire
My purpose is to fade into my bed, cautionary tale.
The only question left is who will write the end.
Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2011
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Dave Streett Poem
Why are you still mysterious behind transparent lenses, or
Am I just shivered by my own reflection
Cornered searching beyond the top of your head
a puzzle of ambiguity focused on text..
Vibrate your phone into silent pieces paused as broken starlight… I hope
Who are you a silent page turner or one who blinds with pine smoke.
I want to know, glass stem eyes or un ashed embers??
Here’s to hoping you aren’t sane..
Cause halting my casket is impossible
You can have my sharp lines of passion and dissonance of thought.
Assumed the unlight alley way squeezed all my heart, until you froze water in my
hand.
I already bartered my mother’s sleep for a double sealed bag no unbroken veins
left
Forever committed to loneliness owning me
Punishment for tiptoeing in the dark seeking blank checks.
I guess I don’t deserve to get past the middle part in you..
Forced to rerun moments in the cafeteria.
This is why I push experience onto paper
I’ve already lost to a bloated stomach and burnt lips
All before I even know your name.
Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2011
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Dave Streett Poem
Cruising home from the driving range.
My collared shirt free of cigarette burns…
58 in November, hit’em pure
Pushed back against the wind flirted with woods
Everything should be peace Turners on; and I’m contemplating hard
A trip back to dodge way ,
bury me in project bricks
Surrounded by fresh needles and chunky cocaine.
Skoal Mint sinking me to the chair again,
Dotted pupils linoleum on my knees…
I”m pushing it all the way cause
I want me the ****ing ringing chased by black melting weightlessness..
Ohh where did I lose soul.. between rattling box car trains at the back porch in point breeze,
or the cramped back seat of my ford escort home… I still feel the abrasive fabric on my cheek…
Don’t think Ill find it in a 401k or wooden pin..
salivating at double seals again
I don’t think I can do this,
don’t think I can be high enough sober
,I ain’t never gonna recover.
A vibration sucks my lip dry, damn phone dashing fantasy.
It’s not locked, Alone, but a few voices behind me.
humming I can’t handle another decade of subs junk and booze..
I feel too much. sober
Drops of sweat on my back from heated seats flash call off leg cramps
Black trucks remind of exit door deliveries at Giant Eagle..
Uneasiness haunts back the anticipation of copping
Am I supposed to eat honey nut cheerios with a damn fork…
How am I gonna recover?????
Artificial warmth always distracts swollen veins and cherished loneliness
How am I gonna recover?
The drugs don’t know
this time
I’m fighting with sessions, a pen and ****ing numbers…
I can mask rage as calm conversation
Throw out chunks of feelings in self deprecation
And turn away from nodding strangers
I’m calling out to all my desire to die…….
.
Cause today I’m feeling high enough
Dave streett
Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2013
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Dave Streett Poem
I used to think the long smoke filled tables of NA were the answer.
The stalks of faces nodding with my inflection, up up down downs left left right.
Like a goddamn contra code.
Happiness charted in days, two years glowed clichés rolled.
Waning white key tag applause.
I bolted before they found out I burned on the way in…
rolled straight to the methadone clinic. Grown men in in ankle length shorts and sideways hats, Whining………….clean??
I even tried to buy a few weeks out of the trunk of an Oldsmobile… wafers or sick pills, my choice…
stared deep into the eyes of socially acceptable at a scientology rehab.. Mingled with cruise and Katie Holmes, then got the boot for hoarding gasoline..
Impatient in eastern Pa, courtesy of the Canadian national railroad. I sat circled breathing from garbage bags of Freon. Sneaking from a mandated meeting to the Reeding open market clutching everyone’s night in my wallet..
I’ve never been here before though alone without prospects, no subs nada nothing…
I am all feelings now and I know
I “m still trapped inside of her, screw you sarah, your abstract cards,
7 th grade year book pictures locked together, from your mind to my stalled heart.
. I wanna run back to dark rooms your ashy cotton tongue kisses..
I need someone to water down my vodka. Ash my burning cigarette..
, Hug me.dammit. Lie to me through late night emails.. Your still speeding through, drowning in Pabst. I’m stuck my mind still sears you picture Short waves of blonde always searching for a quiet mole behind the right eye. I’m scared I’ll never feel it again. Waves of breath stolen from a line. You will always be exalted.
Work is good, but everything is missing. No rush, no rocket of feeling when I touch someone. No raised hairs from a shoulder squeeze. I can’t even find a mind to throw venom at my writing. Attacking my inability to move forward.
I must be Too sober now craving your extended leg and swinging dolce bag…
Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2013
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Dave Streett Poem
Shards of moonlight slice through my dash
weakened by long silent rain drops.
Sarah, tosses her blonde hair in half circles
bringing waves of Brian Wilson's “feel flows”
crashing off my thoughts of tainted blood.
She's still opaque behind heart shaped glassess, but
I've already seen the soft moles below her eye.
Newports and tangerine trident escape the rhythm.
Pabst blue ribbon and crooked art work is
passed through rolled up tin foil.
The click of my lighter glows the weeping
hairs on the side of her cheek.
Focusing on the melting numbers of the clock,
my eyes ignore imperfection.
Another number Drip and the thud of the car door will
leave me with only her silver hair clip.
Before I can spit another stylish fragment
She drives her hand through ashes
presses all of New York City on My neck..
Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2011
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Dave Streett Poem
Alice and Chains screeches the dissonance of deep thought..
I’m transformed to cigarette chains.
Curling grass brushes me through imitation iron.
Not as good as dry humping in grass fields behind rehab.
Wait Wait, my forearm is pasted to star bucks aluminum.
The procession of pumpkin spice smiles tempo the day.
Rapid wing birds fight the grey sky, triplets dive bombing a Toyota, synchronized.
I used to love sleeping arms free, now I clutch a pillow between my legs.
Pushing so many hands away definitely isn’t consolation.
Fantasy has to rush my mind again, past junkie tales.
A cracked wood railing and six ashtrays. Is that a girl,
Brushing he hair with smoke.
I don’t know her, but am positive she hates me.
Her face doesn’t measure happiness, way too cool for model thin.
I’m armed with blunt smoke and a ****ing pedestal.
Begging for a glimpse behind her skin, I wanna devour the “salt of her fear”
Chewing her cotton armor with crafted syllables.
Sporting burnt orange and sketching brain eating rabbits.
Damn she’s gonna melt me.
My eloquent rap rushing without conviction
Penance for believing my shared needles were forgotten in stead of pitied.
Damn, my tainted infected deadly blood even shivers fantasy…
I’m just gonna burn out in one of those ashtrays
a hollow black mark melted in plastic spectacled with grey ashes.
Copyright © Dave Streett | Year Posted 2013
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