If you like this, you should tweet about it:

We shared a house by the freeway w/ roaches
a retired cat burglar & our doubts.

Our only friends were the bums on the Ave.
They took us in as their own.

For a month I was stuck in their dialect, afraid
I'd never speak like a white boy again.

Billy was a hobo once, lord knows he paid his dues.
He had a fatal weakness, called it the blues.

He was just a roly poly broke down old Indian bum,
happy as Pooh bear & always twice as stoned.

He was tone deaf drunk or sober,
but he taught me a lick or two.

Yellowhawk was a painter & a Lakota shaman,
carried a brush in his hat band like a feather.

We knew at once we were kin w/out blood.
Our symbols & our stories were the same.

His pictures had the mastery & mystery of Les Trois Freres,
sacred scenes that spilled from him & splashed across the page.

We spent a night on the mountain, once,
swattin' skeeters & swappin' tales.

When Jeff went home, I lost the pad. The last time I saw him
I was making drunken passes by the railway tracks.

« IV | Main | VI »

Add your thoughts or questions here

John T. Unger poet

I'm best known as an artist and designer. Relaxing makes me tense, so I tend to put in a lot of hours on diverse projects.

Before becoming a visual artist, I spent 15 years as a poet. I studied poetry at Interlochen Arts Academy, Naropa, Stone Circle and on the streets. I performed my work for years at Stone Circle, solo shows, poetry readings, and at Lollapalooza in 1996.

I still write poems, but only if I can make them fit the constraints ofTwitter.

Mobile: 231.584.2710 (9 to 5 PST only) | Email me

Art IS my day job

Popular Pages + Entries

  • All content © 1992-2013, John T Unger.