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.