breathless chest, pale youth abreast in piss and toilet waters.

skinny studs, man-boys, nude nubs: strain on porcelain pulpits.

wall-less now, all this around, lay bare on eyes of squatters.

but what’s this? What is this? Oh my. Jesus. I have the shits.

like a buffet in reverse: suonottulg, it’s perverse, it’s

a hedonistic tour de force! Misbegotten hot cysts,

froth and bubble brown in the pool of the palace of piss.

running through crowds in the deep dark, I race against the bells.

un-light, unrelenting, an exhausting full nothingness.

pushing past nebulous forms, anxiety dips and swells.

un-right, notwithstanding complete success and passedness.

un-sure, quite demure under gropes and the shadow’s caress.

Is that hope that I see, past the smoke of this black being?

pushing, running, stumbling, till tick tick ticktick tick tick RIIIIINNNNNGGG!

refreshed at my desk, still lacking breaths, class is starting now.

a sea of kids, sardined, most senses entirely numb,

the current’s calm, but below, an undertow of know-how

highbrow children pass (low down): gum (trading to and from).

stick in hand I crumple and chew. salty, but why? how come?

surfacing the sea (entirely me) I shout a prayer

to halls of lady labyrinth and dens of madame lair:

O’ TO THE DIRGE OF THE HUM OF THE WIRES: THAT QUIET NOISY TUNE.

O’ TO THE TRASH AND THE GRIME THAT LITTERS TUNNELS UNKNOWN.

I LOVE YOUR HISTORY (FORGOTTEN), YOUR RELICS, YOUR RUNES.

THE TIME I SPEND SO LOST IN THE MYSTERY OF YOUR ZONE:

I CHERISH UNREPENTANT AND ROMANTICALLY ALONE.

WHEN CREEPING THROUGH YOUR DARK DIRGE AND OPERATIC ALLURE

I KNOW ONE THING I KNOW FOR SURE: WE’RE HELPLESSLY OBSCURE.

washed ashore to she whom I have prayed before. the pit.

like satellites in orbit we meet here on occasion.

teachers stand smoking, students sit choking down chocolate

and candy wine. a fine refuge from class, a liaison

for those who can’t take the heat, the smell, the sounds so brazen.

this too exudes something seemingly wrong. big hogs buffet

on wasted songs. they snort teasing, knowing I’ve lost the way.

out of steam and out of queens, I fizzle like a lost flea

skating through vacant doors, nursing homes, and construction floors,

my life has become something strangely unbeknownst to me.

past workers and scholars towards poor folk, those ill, and young whores,

I hug against pregnant teens and toddlers with soiled drawers.

a moving nuthouse, living waste, a communal failed mind,

makes one understand what and who there is to leave behind.

I jump outside mournfully through coarse and unfinished walls,

the old white wind washes me clean and completely undone,

greenery surrounds me and I finally hear its calls:

LOVE LIKE LOVE NEVER LOVED BEFORE, MY BEAUTIFUL YOUNG SON!

elderlies embrace me, gifting songs and books on wars not won,

not fought, not battled, people not sought for pain as cattle.

dying in the gentle grass I un-eat from the apple.