Long Island

I keep my guns in a filing cabinet

I keep my books in a fish tank.

I roam the streets with a torn pocket

Come with me, we’ll be men.

I didn’t start that fire, and I can’t put out the flame

Her breasts are warm, words are stained.

And that kid against the lockers has a black eye

And that guy with his pants down has wet eyes.

“You’re not going to hurt him” you say

No one can help me.

Chinese translations on tattoos are wrong – on the girl who calls herself Mable,

Her parents named her Ruth, but she thought the name was dreadful.

Don’t call me sir, call me Big John.

There is no such thing as a good or bad person,

Everyone is a gray area.

If you dig under the mattress of any person, you will find their weapon of choice.

If you look in any mirror, you will see a visual answering machine.

Hello, pick up the phone, it’s your mother, I’m coming over

Confidentiality is my religion.

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