Walking down Howard .. After the Faire.
I spot some pretty boy's assless chaps poking out of the ferns
In a tastefully decorated open garage.
He's being playfully flogged by the girl in the perfect leather kitty suit, and peals of chardonnay fueled laughter follow me down towards ..
The next piss soaked street corner of the housing projects
where neighbors gathered on the sidewalk pass the afternoon
grumbling matter-of-factly about the smell down the hall.
"Y'know when that 'rigo mortis' sets in, and the heat just blows you up 'til you're 'bout ready to pop?" .. "Well, that's what he be like, and nobody comin' to take him away 'cause the streets all gay."
As the murmuring agreements carry me on, I push it all
through my senses and into my head.
The Stench of
Sex and Death.
Of privilege and poverty
The sense of camaraderie
Drama and Comedy.
And I, passing by, with an ironic laugh, carry on as if nothing about this is wrong
Which is true .. After all what can I do?
Invisible and alone, with this poem, I think why?
Do we do this to ourselves. In our own little hells.
Whistling past graveyards .. Is there somewhere I stand?
With my eyes and ears open, and a pen in my hand.
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