poem: down these streets

29 Nov

down these streets

well past midnight
city streets slick with rain
fast storm off the Pacific
self-made movie sets
extras wait
huddle under heating lamps

keep moving keep moving

brain aches
bones burn

i know a place

last two hundred
scratched together from pawn shop offerings
petty theft
simple acts of deprivation

quick exchange
a bindle of crystal clutched tight in my fist
grind it out
grind it down
burn baby burn
speed crushes my skull
tears well in my eye

a cock slips through a gloryhole
c’mon man, you know you want to
when i’m high i want everything
he trades stalls
fucks me without comment
a few grunts, a sliding moan at the end
nothing worth mention
nothing worth anything, really

64 hour crunk
another guy
different bed
similar results

a gunshot still plays
black & white rerun in my head
not your fault, his mother said
not your fault, not your fault
between the lines i read the truth
you’ll never know love, faggot
again, and again, again
in my head
on their lips

another night wander
another bag of greed
a voice says, you know you want to
and i cannot forgive


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