There were a couple of 40 oz bottles adorned with black plastic at the corner.
the possessor’s chat with strangers and heckle the general conscience
and I’m not offended
the human condition has always intrigued me
not to mention, they have the best stories.
i share my cigarettes
and they share somewhat hopeless insight.
lightning cracks
thunder….
i came about and still thought it necessary to check the weather.
we’re all counting on technology.
Tv’s, iPhones, and blow dryers
One loose thread, or a bad hair day and a 2 hour stint in Facebook prison ensues.
i woke up early
a stale cigarette and the last drop
wishing the levy wasn’t dry
bathroom…. kitchen…… bedroom
until it set in i was walking in circles
im not a fan of redundancy
i think routine becomes numbly usual
dulling senses
with that one compromise and that everlasting need to fluctuate
one day i’ll be a home bum
just not tomorrow
Inbound
Staring at the pigeon stained planks
that make up the platform
they occasionally glance up
to see the city and the failure to clot circulation
smart phones out to occupy time and deal with anxiety
The best 150 dollar a month verizon therapist money can buy
On a contract though, but aren’t we all…
although the folks on the other side
and everywhere
are headed in opposite directions.
we are all going head to toe
to that same 6 foot deep destination
I just wish one of these strangers would
stop
share some of my hooch
and talk about it.
I was wine drunk
the bags under her eyes suggested the same
i asked where she was from,
and she asked if i had any pills.
Its funny how people open up to strangers
and close to the closest.
both of us complained about the length of the trip,
but neither of us had anything to look forward toward
i gave her my number.
she called.
maybe we could share a beer
She drew
mostly on a watercolor sketchpad
pictures of virginity
for a kennedy family unaffiliated
on the scraps from the fish tote of that high school art room
sometimes it smelled of burnt pottery, and sometimes it smelled like wine,
or whiskey depending on the mood.
projection is a mistress defined by binoculars
and my eyes still need that optometrist to give me those.
My father and i used to fish wrecks,
dropping lures to dig up life from death
my siblings and i are accustomed to that
i’ve watched many living things caught dwelling on the past
filleted and tossed in the barrel
with the other ones that took the bait
If these walls could talk….
they would tell you where the bottles were hidden,
where the depression came from
and what its like to be neglected
If these walls could talk…
they would beg for a new tenant
because they’ve become accustomed to the high price of low living
If these walls could talk…
they’d tell you that their plaster mud composition couldn’t take all that pressure,
inflicted by a “friend”
If these walls could talk…
there would be a fluctuation in tone because of the tears the words were fighting through.
This last cigarette
a carelessly dropped half burnt marlboro
stepped on by an anonymous foot
his unkept arm extended
grasping in desperation
while the other hand fumbled through a pocket of vagrant memories
searching for a light.
His fingernails, protecting the dirt underneath
carefully packed the loose pieces into the End
and touched it with the fire .
An unhinged mouth
like that hooker i got christmas 2010
only god knows
how old she was, seeing as i was to drunk to ask
didn’t really care
seemingly the same lack of care for anything… about this one
Everyone
we all just go about our day operating with little feeling or remorse
the drunks drink
the hookers hook
the business deal, and the druggards buy
In the end i guess we’re all just open mouths
waiting for a shot
kingofthecourt 