Tag: Dirty Realism

Battles for life happen
  in the desert;
    saints, 
     demoniacs, 
       madmen,
                Jesus.


My desert was a 
 shitty community pool,
   brimming with gallons of
    toddler piss
      and
       ruptured
         fart bubbles.


I'd hopped the fence at 4 a.m. 
       fearful I'd skewer my cunt
         and be stuck like that
                 under the humid
                   moonless
                     Florida
                           sky.


I'd jumped in with my, 
  No. 
   His clothes on, 
     like some pathetic
          Ophelia.
            Even my Chuck Taylor's 
               which made me feel so
                    Rock 'n Roll.


I could hear my breathing, 
   my heartbeat;
      In. 
        Thump, thump.
           Out. 
             Thump,  thump. 


And I sent up a prayer to
   whatever
     God was listening. 
       Even if it was 
         nothing at all. 


Just let me die, 
  in this piss 
     filled pool 
       and in the morning some
         poor slob can fish me out.
            Long handled skimmer;
               and me too dead to care about
                    the burden.