Confessions of an American Outlaw #317 (Transmissions For D.A. Levy #9)

By Michael Grover

Dissolve that hate inside
That makes you so american
Expand your consciousness on a page
Like blowing your brain out every time
That last time was a bitch
Wasn’t it
Dissolve it all poetically
As Shorter’s saxophone screams
& residents scream in the hallway
There is peace in Poetry
Were you always writing your way out of this place
Were you always dissolving into nothing
Because I feel like I’m dissolving
I know the peace that is right here
It’s easy to get lost in your own mind
When it’s Winter in Ohio
It’s easy to introduce someone to your ghost
& edit Poems all day
It’s easy to write at night
When it comes natural

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A Fresh Start

By Michael Grover

Trauma from past lives
Keeps us down in this one
Stuff we bury & don’t think about
Total blackout

I’ve always blacked out in trauma
Ever since I was a kid
For that reason I have a
Selective memory

Tell america my inheritance
Was only anxiety
only anxiety
We have built ourselves so high
We expect so much
We all have the american dream
Engrained inside us
We’re all gonna be famous at something
Like I’m the new american idol of poetry
& rupert murdoch himself
Listens to my voicemails
Shit he must be bored
I hardly ever get any
& they’re not that exciting
Unless they’re just deleting
All of the exciting voicemails
My life’s never really been exciting
I stayed in on Friday & Saturday nights
& worked on my writing
Or sitting in a coffee shop
In Philadelphia all night long
Everyone else seemed to be living
If I had a girlfriend she was living
She just didn’t want me around
Some nights in LA the party would come to me
In the form of Thome Selby
We’d drink beer,
drink whiskey,
smoke pot
Sit out on the fire escape
& howl at the moon all night
We’d go to the taco stand at two AM
That was exciting

I have a question to ask you
Do you really think aggression & killer instinct
Are fine human qualities
We all got the message
It was that voicemail that got deleted
Remember I’m the new american idol of poetry
We all are
None of us are perfect enough
All flawed & imperfect
Not quite ready for heaven yet
Never will be
So we eternally stress
About eternal salvation
I can’t help the fact my parents
Took me to a southern baptist church
In Green Acres, Florida
The minister was a family friend
On my mom’s side
It’s what they had to do

Don’t blame the parents
They know not what they have done
They knew not what was done to them
We never realize
What is done to us

May the judge step forward
In front of the firing squad
We could all use
A fresh start

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