Back to the gritty world,
pavement raving mad,
tired of tires it sets fire to sneakers
and boot bottoms rot out,
slashed by glass from the last light they shot out.
I shout out to the pout on the sun
two scoops for one
and then I stand in my raisin bran until the day is done.
The decay of this place is a taste,
it takes time to get ripe in you
but once it blooms
and you bite back the tightly coiled tinfoil soil
this June
your pallet will be so refined by starvation
that your guts will go nuts and shut out situation.
Its better that way.
Let none of it stay.
Cover the concrete with vomit,
decorate it with diarrhea.
Let your intestines be a lesson;
the shit starts here.
Have you seen the air?
Comments
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What I like about it is the rhythm and voice. It's fastened together with a very tough, bold clarity, yet still preserves a bit of room for ambiguity. Reminds me of hot city sidewalks and car fumes and sweet, fermenting Manhattan garbage in July. I'm almost singing the words when I read it back to myself. I'm not a fan of rhyme, but this was very strong and refreshing.
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