Saturday, April 15, 2006

Jail Time.

Thirteen hours in and Manuel, Lazo, and I are sick

So many I hear their sighs and whimpers in junk kick and junk orgasm half hard on rubbing along the smooth wooden edge of a precinct cell and a drunken snarl “What are you doing?”

And I look at him with metabolic hate, drawing myself away…

“Leave me the fuck alone will you?”

And he knocked me into a corner, blood running out of my mouth and I wouldn’t look at him…now he is shaking the bars and screaming “Let me out of here!” … I mean for the Jail House Pest Dept…. and an old red-haired junky came over and sat beside me with a handkerchief and a cup of water and washed off my face with gentle larcenous old woman fingers…

And I gave them all a sleepy benediction…and snuggled down into my junk and went on the nod…

3 comments:

ML said...

tragic and worthy, those dark urin smelling cells are really the gateway to hell.
So what about my Real de Catorce proposal?

Hermes said...

Did you get a Bic-Pen jail tat as a souvenir?

Chris said...

void of course