an i smell the wild locust an honey...
an it drifts from me. these wild things. an it drifts from me. an it ecohes out across the fake vinyl sidings of new mansions along old town poverty row whilst little black girls an little snot filled black boys play toss no parents in sight.
i can see her sex from three blocks away. i can see...i can just, well let me stop let me gather myself there is a job to do. my wedding ring is loose from weight loss from hard work pulling the plow. you can feel the hair on your arms rise when it is free and lying around. the hunter (though now trying to be good though now going home and praying though now starving it out through no television through no podcasts through no alcohol or fun at all) don't forget.
the silence is deafening
we are alone don't you know, if christian god wanted our company he would of allowed babel to be built. wouldn't live so long on the mountain top and most assuredly wouldn't of tried to drown us.
you see the silence, we are alone here. i can smell her through the black spandex yoga pant. hair pulled eye shades over face bent and wriggling for her weekly grocery.
my wife wag like that?
ah, you forget about time an all those tight spaces i squeeze myself out of.
it don't matter the weather. i never look back. it don't matter the phone call or nice letter darling, i never look back. leave those that are gone to the graveyard. abandoned the ship of i. we sail on. now when you catch a ride on the next machine an it don't perform like me that's the fate of a lack of faith.
i won't wink back.
i won't reach and pinch or help with the groceries only to be invited up and given fellatio.
won't do shit.
i got silence here. i got temptation of talk show.
i got candy and white flour.
i got these gray hairs.
there is not a cloud in sight.
it passes in time. there is a wilderness here. every option at every moment. life like seeing all the snowflake patterns at once. hearing all the words at once. feeling everything at once. every possible option and outcome for every possible situation in one moment. the breath of god. the wilderness. every moment, every possible out come is playing out. somewhere somebody is pinching an ass through yoga pants.
an there there is a rainstorm. an maybe they are lovers.
in the ghetto, where i roam, there is only the bass drum. there is only the black bag booze. there is the over stuffed jeans and the savage pacing. the verbal explosions.
i will not pinch.
i will not speak.
i will think the lord's prayer.
will hope for belief will wait for converts.
i can imagine my wife on her knees a deep smile a deep ruby colored lipstick not heavily applied. the children are laughing using the things we afford from all my paid walking. cable is on. pot is on. i am almost home.
when i get in the car i will drive in silence, sunroof open not a cloud in the sky pass twelve men an hope at least seven wave hello.
maybe the phone will ring.
more stepping to go. she smelled of vanilla i breath deep and leave her behind.