"thank god for the rain to wash the trash off the sidewalk"
negativity has me strapped, gat-less
to a moth-bitten mattress,
corporate news networks pass gas
on the keeled-over television set
that haunts my sense of self.
alienation has me strapped, gat-less
into a world-made straitjacket
either as a cab driver or voter
i can't seem to hack it
anymore.
my periphery is crammed endlessly
by sights of collective devastation
and coordinated injury.
surreal swirls of confident hookers and surly johns,
peep show beacons and shambling deacons,
pawn-shop renegades and disco dancers
who boast nocturnal shades.
this mirror is about to break,
the oddness of my mohawk
with no certain tribal affiliation.
i don't pretend to eat healthy
because my body
is a donation to diabetes.
have i ever seen
what a .44 magnum can do
to a woman's pussy? no,
but the next fare
to brooklyn is a rasta
whose hair is unkempt, bushy,
the plastic seats reek of quick sex
and stoned yuppies who don't care
where they are headed next.
i'll work anytime, anywhere,
even on jewish holidays
no need to change my underwear
or pretend that the Wizard
will ever give me a heart.
