Why More of Us are Looking for Refuge in Death

We hide at first
with dogs behind dumpsters
in the dicks of thick men
in the opiate’s foggy parlor
and when our souls fall into a coma
and the mind slows down
like an old train and stops long before
the ghost town’s platform
we walk out into a sea of weeds
and cry and cry and cry
for some place to go
that isn’t patrolled like the tunnels
underneath 54th South
or the dog park that now closes at nine
where we would pitch our canvas
against mosquitos and smog.
We cry until we’ve dried up and must drink
from the city-river’s yellow froth
and we cry again
our voices filled with gas and gravel we cry help
and the wind blows the day’s newspaper
into our faces
as if to announce our place
between the American Nazi’s torch
and the blazing mad man on the hill
pledging to purge our kind
from the force we thought would defend us.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Why More of Us are Looking for Refuge in Death

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s