• "A Ballad Who Knows Me Well"
    by R. J. Spring

    Living they've said is
    Hard
    Goin' through those motions
    Left 'em scarred
    I don't blame 'em
    But lighten
    Up
    Get into those lights
    Tip over your black pooled
    Cups.

    Harley threw up a
    Math book
    It was only so far
    She could go
    It was shoved through
    Her ears and her
    Head shook
    It was somethin'
    She didn't wanna
    Know.

    And oh my
    What is this?
    Listen and I'll show
    And oh my
    What goes there?
    It's only what is,
    It's just what
    We know.

    I always was an actress
    But I had a run in
    With the Queen
    He threw a bag to
    My face
    And said I was intruding
    In his place
    I was to go to a
    Platform and
    Do a song-and-dance
    For him
    But I just grew so angry, man
    That b***h just filled me
    To the brim.

    And my love is
    Strong here
    To withstand it all
    With me
    He makes it what
    I am
    Only a man I've ever seen
    I love, I love, and
    I do believe
    It's him I'll
    Never leave.

    When I hear Dylan
    Talk I wish I had
    A Rainman
    His voice infects with
    Poetry and I hear it in
    My hands
    And my hands work so
    Clearly
    And it sets my thoughts ablaze
    And it makes me think so dearly
    What to do with all my days.

    But Mama, she knows better
    What to do with me
    She opens my skull and displays
    My future to see
    And the thought of me as
    Nothin' but the crag that
    Lives a home
    She reflects my tangled thoughts
    And brushes through them
    Like a comb.

    Oh, Once I learned of Trotsky
    In the history of the world
    Silly did I find him,
    And with his wild hair
    It was curled
    Izzie used to go
    With me to admire
    Napoleon's stance
    But she's gone away now
    She's only giving nothing a
    chance.

    I read To Kill a Mockingbird
    No birds there die, I see
    And my lust for that gore and violence
    Makes Mama worry for me
    But it ain't real
    And no one feels
    It
    So cool off
    For a spell
    And know when the
    Corn syruped blood flows
    This chick is doin'
    Well.

    I've got a Bolshevik
    For a sister
    Regulates what I've
    Got
    She's after my mind
    To blister
    And she puts me in a
    Wrong spot
    Doesn't even try to be
    Doesn't wanna live
    Unless she
    Gets on-a
    Hurtin' me.

    I like to write and
    Sing it all
    But I speak though a
    Sketch at most
    To smudge my idea
    To paper
    Take a trip on my mind's
    Coast
    But I can feel my head's
    Gonna roast

    I know when they say
    Livin's hard
    Yes, I see that my old life
    Has left me very
    Scarred
    And I don't blame them
    When they can't lighten up
    Sometimes there's no light
    For you to jump in.
    And sometimes I drown in
    My black pooled cup.
    And sometimes I can't win.


    [End.]