Letter to the Black Beyond:
In Philadelphia, the sun sets on post modern ghetto fallout. I’ve passed though a seemingly endless corridor of poverty and sadness, somehow broken up by the spirit to survive. We’ve crossed rivers and wetlands and ducked under whole cities to avoid traps that cause us to stop.
I’m desperate for a cigarette. It’s been some time now and I swear they are calling my name – the smokes that is. But I’ll survive. Maybe.
We’ve stopped and I’ve been offered a seat in the café car, but no good comes from sitting down for too long. She tells me she’s in sales – floor coverings. I wonder if sales attracts a naturally boisterous person or if it turns them into them. She’s from Ohio; she glad she doesn’t have an Ohio accent. I’m not really from anywhere, but I say I’m from Connecticut; weird little countries in a bigger one.
It’s Too Hot To Drink
hello beauty of the lowlands,flower of my homely gutter -i wonder how it is that you have gracedthis parched desert where no god has livedsince Humans rose to walk.i wonder at the scum that seeps out from my teeth,i wonder at the rage that simmers below my balls.what waste it is to have scum in … Read moreIt’s Too Hot To Drink