If you won’t die my death,
don’t try living my life
my life is full of echoes
unheard
voices that bounce back and forth
through the canyons
and decrepit crack houses.
a straight walk through mugger’s alleys
and innocence stealing gangsters
my life is full of silence
mute and descending sounds
into a dark pit of swamp-like
waters coming from city gutters
with diseased syringes and dirty condoms
my eyes see through souls
in burgundy sunsets
through eyes of a pregnant street dog
colorblind
and cataracted war vets
my lips taste the sour Summer
-stench of decaying dead cats in
tin cans and fetuses in trash bags
speaking only when spoken to
and kissing death on the lips
my ears hear refuse
to listen
to the cries across the border
of women being raped and strangled
tortured then murdered
for a piece of American Pie
My heart
-cold
and damp
bleeding
and purple
dingy and rotting
beating, beating, beating
by Edward Vidaurre on Thursday, August 18, 2011 at 4:27pm
