some would argue
that i am the last
kind that God created
out of Adam’s
dick bone.
for i understand
most other males
of other species
still have their
carnivore baculum.
i thought i was his
rib,
but that
is just sugar
coating the situation
in ignorant eyes i’m just a cunt.
i think about these
things by Los Angeles
Street and 4th because
i don’t know what else
can help all of “this”.
every wino and every whore
had to have had love at some
point maybe from the nurse
or taxi driver at their
birth.
do others think of my
thoughts i try to hold
still in my brain i
don’t mean to let them
slither through my ear holes.
i blurt them
out
they are at times
bitter
and at other times
full of
gasps and groans
searching for a heart
to land in.
i drank the smoke and
regurgitated the fire
in the middle of the night
as the alleys turn into banks
of sulfur piss fog.
while the vomit runs
like manna, i protest
at the top of my lungs
the safety patrol giggle
while they ticket me
two times.
we rob Mary Magdalene
to pay
Delilah and keep her
quietly sedated with
plastic jewels
my life blood drained
on an untender
pavement.
and as the morning comes
i cower against the
insurmountable dubious
truths of the moment
in time cruelly here
now.
the sarcoptes on my
legs
linger in the first
class
of my thighs waiting
for my lunch with the
army of the
disposables.
plastic bags filled
with bitter scraps
of trash posing as
life precious moments
fading like my mind.
those in the name
of holy begrudge
what they do but
do it out of
indentured servitude.
i float again
towards the banks
of grotesqueness
defeated whispers
some broken bones.
but Our
Lady tolls at 3 p.m.
the lions
returned
to the lofty
lair
my right
fist level to my eyes
my left catapulted
at injustice.
words less spoken 