God Pees Too
Stop right there. Internally that sediment echoed throughout her. Externally she was holding a torch to a pile of beds. She was ready to burn away the house that had caused her blindness. She was all that was awful. The mattresses were lined with all the colors of disgusting. She knew not where the eyes would finally meet the horizon of peace. Would she ever get to feel the warmth of his hand on her stomach her again? Did she believe that acts such as this were something more than her own leaps towards his smile. She dropped the last bit of gasoline onto the tattered rags. She lit them and tossed them into his room. He awoke and ran in circle not knowing what to do. He saw through the flames that she was standing with a fire extinguisher and a smile.
When did he come around to play? He only came around when it was dark and the shadows fell on his head in concealment the same way the shirt falls over my body in warmth. He would stand at my porch and kick stones waiting with his hands behind his back for me to come outside and nod my agreement to his presence. Sometimes he would come up and say "Why won't you play with me when I come 'round?" I would simply walk out to the front of the porch and tell him that "I am the monster underneath your bed that you aren't afraid of yet." He would always say that he had been stranded on my doorstep every night and day hoping to have the answer to his scuffed jeans and tattered shoes. I don't have the answers. All I have are water sermons with empty words. All you have is a bucket with holes as big as your fist.
It smelled of 3-day-old body in the room. The sunlight was pouring in through windows that did not have curtains. The floor was littered with dust, sweat and food. The television rang out louder because it was morning and the senses had allowed for muted responses from background life as I slept. I rolled over and pissed on the floor. I rolled back and fell asleep. It had made no difference. It never did. The phone rang and I ignored it. The day was starting and I was behind.
He got off the train and the smell of New York hit him in the face with the smell of a Bum's unwashed ass. It smelled of death, money, indifference, and disease. It would last until he could rid himself of the idea that he was special. "Embrace it." He would say this over and over again but had no reason to embrace either the city or even his own ideas. He had lost faith in the thoughts that leaked from him. He had lost faith in reds and oranges. There was no music playing in ears that were once touched with oils and perfume. The train station belched him out into the street where he was greeted by the hot sun, a homeless beggar, buildings dedicated to the soulless, and a rather pissed off God.
