deepundergroundpoetry.com
street
it’s the dirty part of the city, that continued to rot
when progress & opportunity fled north. it’s the street,
where the Dream died long before it ever suckled its
old mother’s tits.
it’s the ex-monk, who got kicked out of the monastery for
whackin off in front of the boys’ choir, who preaches his
sermons in every season, reminds us that Jesus is coming,
& maybe he will, but if he does he’ll be packin heat.
it’s the sticky summer nights, where you learned to make
out in the narrow gangways between tenement buildings,
where I earned my degree in hard drinkin, Polish Lepke’s
College of Remorse, & I could identify the specialty of every
whore on skid row by the tattoo on her ass, & the needle
jockey who put it there.
you ran with girls who smoked & swore & were almost pretty,
girls like Lill & downtown Cathy & timid little Jane Marie, who
never had a chance to drop outa high school cause some fucker
raped her & beat her to death with his fists in a rat infested alley.
& if I ever loved a woman, I would change my name & burn my
notebooks, I would tell her every lie that I saved up until now, &
she’d believe them, because she would detect bell notes in the
words, & find a clarity in my eyes that handed out faith like
little wafers served up at Sunday mass, faith that never came
from a bible.
she would be a capable woman, who knew what it meant to walk
with a man, & to lay with him, & I would feast at the bounty of her
serenity, I would get drunk on the juice of her spirit,
& I would understand, at last, the heart of a woman,
because she didn’t come from the street.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 17
reading list entries 4
comments 17
reads 1713
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.