prick…chapter 1…

summer’s cicadas sang-out into early morn that August…heat melted green leaves and not a rain did come…just day after day of the sun’s mighty rays being cast upon a city…steel and concrete…steel and concrete…punishing us all…making even the most powerful of men realize that they too are human…

and the Mississippi’s muddy waters did not cleanse a soul that summer…many were taken down to the river’s banks and cast under in robes of white…only to begin the long…long wait for the Messiah to come ’round and take them home…

home…far far away from the gunshots at night…looting of stores in awkward hours…the maze one must walk in order to get home…ducking and dodging homeboys and hookers on street corners selling themselves…bags of boy…spice spice baby…crushed-up prescription pills…and inner-souls as well…all must go…volume volume volume…clearance on all items…act now…

ambulances and squad cars cry out into night…responding to domestic acts of violence…DCFS removing kids from burning homes of rage…no jobs…no money…no futures…and baby’s got asthma…momma’s losin’ patience…and dad’s got his 40 oz. somehow to keep him company for a short half hour…only to pass-out..get-up..and go-out and do it again…

the baby-boy cries himself to sleep in short staccato breaths…trying to grasp onto life…but why…why…if he can just hold-on…just hold out in this murky miserable life then he too will have a place to call home…he too will have a place to call home…

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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