Bobby Jameson

A written history of Bobby Jameson and his search through the past. Working my way back through the jungle of drug addiction and booze. My family life as a kid was the breeding ground for addicts. No self worth, no help, and one chance to get out alive. Music was the horse I rode out on...and the music business was the horse I rode into hell. Pronounced dead twice from drug over doses, I lived to tell how the pursuit of fame is as deadly as any narcotic I have ever used.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

RECTANGLED INTO ROUND

Artwork Joe Bonita

CRUSHED AGAINST
THE BURNING WALL
OF DREAMS THAT
SPUTTERED INTO STALL

FACTS LIKE RAZORS
CUT ME CLEAN
REALITY IS
FUCKING MEAN

DEAD LIKE DAYS
THAT SCREAM OUT NO
I HAVE NO FUCKING
PLACE TO GO

BUT GO I WILL
TO NOWHERE'S DOOR
A DOOR UNMARKED
TO EVERMORE

FACE TO FACE
WITH TONGUE TO EYES
SLOBBERED TEARS
THAT CRITICIZE

MY EVERY MOVE
MY EVERY WORD
MY EVERY SINGLE THING
I'VE HEARD

BROKEN BACKED
AND CORNERED BOUND
EACH SQUARE RECTANGLED
INTO ROUND

TRIANGLED FEAR
THAT OWNS THE SOUL
IS FUCKING HERE
OUT OF CONTROL

ZIPPERED FACES
GLEAMING SPIT
GNAWING MOMENTS
IN A FIT

WHAT IN GOD'S NAME
CAN I DO
TO GET THE FUCK
AWAY FROM YOU?

Bobby Jameson August 13, 2011

1 comment:

Tim McMullenAugust 16, 2011 at 1:25 AM
One of the many things that I find interesting in your work, Bobby, is that you often present an idea in many different forms: a prose rant, a symbolic poem, an autobiographical vignette, a resurrected old song with a new video...I like the straightforward exclamation at the end of this one.
Tim
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