dmseay

where ya’ goin’ boy…

away…far far away…

why…ya’ mad or somethin’…someone get to your feelin’s…make you feel all sad…melancholy inside…ya’ were always one who took things too far…never could get it through that fool head of your’s that ya’ just gotta’ shake things off in this life…can’t let people get to ya’…ya’ always let things get to ya’…

sometimes…sometimes i do…

sometimes…you’re the world’s biggest cry-baby…if it’s not takin’ what some guy says the wrong way then it’s some broad that’s broken your heart…ya’ just walk ’round all day in this weird funk…never were able to get things outta’ your head…

i just have to leave for awhile…take-off…

again…

it’s what i do…

yes…it’s what ya’ do…well…where to this time…back east…maybe you’re headin’ back down to St. Louis…

not goin’ back to St. Louis…

too mean of a city for ya’…too tough for ya’…maybe ya’ could use a little toughness…a little toughnin’-up…get into a couple of street fights…have some of them southside boys take care of your ass…won’t feel melancholy no-more…just mad…and that’s what ya’ need…a little madness in your life…hell…ya’ gotta’ be half crazy and half pissed-off to make it in this world anyway…yea…St. Louis could be just your ticket…

not goin’ to St. Louis…

well where ya’ goin’…

don’t know…won’t know till i buy a ticket…

always so ill-prepared…never scopin’ out anything…like that woman you were with…should’ve scoped her out more…gotten a handle on it…would’ve been a lot better-off…

was what it was dad…

yea…a big mess is what it was…never heard so-much bellyachin’ in all my life than when she dumped you…you were cryin’ all the time…still are…is that what this is ’bout…you leavin’ ’cause of her…

just leavin’…O.K. …

have it your way…and when ya’ get to that town you’re just gonna’ leave there too…i guess it’s in you’re nature…didn’t get it from me…had some stick-to-it-ness in my life…but…ya’ wanna’ run then run…it’s what ya’ do best…

yes…it’s what i do best…

god damned Gypsy’s what ya’ are…

a Gypsy huh…

yea…a Gypsy…

looking into the sky…
thinking of nothing…everything…
looking at this old familiar hue…
wondering…wondering…

and grass is green…
clouds white…
bricks red…
dirt brown…

why didn’t i notice these before…
a newness…
fresher days…
allowing colors to seep-in…

man in an olive jacket speaks…it is 75 degrees and he’s wearing a jacket…he keeps talking and talking…to me…to himself…no questions just blanket statements…babble really…incoherent mumbojumbo…i tune him out…i tune him out…why…

looking into the sky…
thinking of nothing…everything…
looking at this old familiar hue…
wondering…wondering…

Kitty walks South Grand Avenue from Gravois to Meremac seven days a week…sun up to sun down…amongst the twenty-four hour circus of pimps…crackheads…junkies…drunks…whores barely seventeen…some in their forties…others in-between…all looking for cash..prices vary…clearance sales are always under-way…

a Lexus will cruise by slowly…men eyeing scarred candy…BMW’s…Range Rovers as well…slowing down to take a peak at what’s offered that night on St. Louis’ southside…

men with families…professional careers…the sex addicts and predators on Social Security…leaning over to open the passanger door of a broken down van…a rusted Pinto…maybe a Ford Fairmont of different colors…different quarter panels…all looking for a thirty second deal…creating a cold-lonliness within as soon as the transaction is completed…

curvy Kitty is a thirty-one year old with a flabby stomach…short stocky legs and mangled blond hair in need of a wash…she’ll do just about anything for a $50…but she will not kiss…she will not kiss…

she sits in a twenty-four hour diner called The Buttery…the smell of cigarette smoke and grease fills the air…coffee is doled out all night…bottomless cup for $2 while the jukebox pumps out Marvin Gaye…Curtis Mayfield..the Stones…dollars placed in the slot by Pollacks…Bosnians…blacks…whites…loud mouths…reflective types…and those women like Kitty who are merely resting for the second shift of the long night falling into morn…

Shorty sits down on a squatty stool at the counter next to her…the pint sized brown man begins rubbing her white neck…decorated by black sweat beads…

God damn Shorty…, she yelps…, take it easy…, the old man moves his lined hands down to her back and asks…, is that better…, Kitty nods her head yes…he had forgotten that her pain was great from a trick gone awry…a beating a month ago which Kitty was still recovering from…

motherfucker…, Shorty mutters to himself…,I would have killed that son of a bitch if I’d been there…beaten up on whores an’ shit…, a red handkerchief is used to wipe the sweat from his brow…. shit…I’d do anything for you girl…you know that…, Kitty nods her head yes…and places her long curls on Shorty’s shoulders…

I know you would’ve honey…I know you would…

1st of the month and the Eagle flies…not so-many in line at the soup kitchens…homeless shelters have vacant beds for a change…and all across town liquor stores sell-out of cheap wines..malt liquors…bottles of Skora vodka…and whiskey that’ll make stomach linings turn to mush over time…eyes lose sight…feet fall-off due to diabetes…

the battle with the bottle takes turns and twists in the lives of street people who will live like royalty for the first few days ‘fore turning to begging for the rest of the month…but for now the SSI check has cleared and the celebration begins…

Teacher sits back and takes a long swig of coffee in the morn while the others go-out to play…he lives in the shelter on the city’s Northside…it is his one time of the day when there is solace…just him and his thoughts with a watered -down cup of joe…thinking…reflecting…reading his latest checked-out book from the library…Tropic of Capricorn trips through his fingers…turning the pages of Miller…silently praising the work of a master…meditating on passages of what it is to be an artist…sacrifices made…sacrifices made…

in a short time Teacher will be back to substituting in the city’s high schools…back to getting daily assignments…back to being on the front-lines…Teacher used to be a full-time educator…things change…things change…

he was married…wife…house…two cars…and one day it just ended…people’s minds change…hearts turn…love leaves…these were her reasons…and he’s been homeless every summer ever-since…gave-up the full-time gig…the benny’s…the year-long salary in order to focus on writing…sacrifices made…sacrifices made…

living amongst junkies…crackheads…winos…and crazies…Teacher felt at home in his bottom bunk…more-so than in the bed with the redhead who was his wife…yes…there were times when he missed a warm body to curl-up-to on cold winter nights…but don’t we all…don’t we all…

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…

trains wail…crying out into darkness…
outlines of trees…drooping limbs…headlights reflect in a window of a vacant house…while a Catholic church illuminates at 4 in the morn…calling out to sinners…all in need…

sirens from cop cruizers scream…going fast down Harrison…blue hues cast color upon an empty street of gray…only the shadow of a man walking swiftly can be seen…going nowhere…nowhere…

abandoned cars line an alleyway…old Chevys…Fords…a couple of vans painted rust and white…rust and white…owners long gone…left all behind…all behind…an engine tries in vain to start…

and here i sit alone in my rented room…listening…watching…waiting and wanting…

you…

a wanting for you…

debating about fishing…haven’t been for a long…long while…tried to go several times but i always backed out at the last minute…somethin’ always came-up…

wanna catch a runner…one that grabs the hook and never lets go…takin’ my line all the way out to the middle of the lake…maybe even the other side…that would do just fine…

went fishing last year…caught one…hauled it in…kept it for a while on ice thinkin’ that would preserve it…kept it on ice too long…
that fish died ‘fore i even gotta a chance to take her home…decided it’d had enough…decided it didn’t wanna stick ’round…

fish are funny that way…lead ’em to the bank but that don’t mean they’re goin’ home with ya’…lot of ’em change their minds…wanna dance on somebody else’s hook for a while…jumpin’ ’round in the water…showin’-off…

maybe it’s best to just stay home…don’t even look at my tackle…poles …hooks…fake worms…just throw it all away an’ realize that my days of fishing are through…

you just get so hungry…an’ you miss the sport of the whole thing…trolling waters in search of fish…all those night hours with a case of beer an’ a pole in your hands waitin’ to land one…

got a few in my lifetime…got me a few…but you always think of the one’s that got away…

that phone’s been ringin’ all night long…won’t stop…and i walk over to pick it up and there’s no-one there…busy signal…just hung-up for some reason…you’d think people would have better things to do at night…read a book…watch late shows…make a pot of spaghetti…somethn’ besides callin’ me at all hours and hangin’-up…

and i wind-up yellin’ in the phone…,whose this…answer me…who are you…, no-one’s there…no voice…steady beep beep beep…on the other end…makes me so mad…wanna yell at the top of my lungs…but it’s 2 in the mornin’ and that won’t do me no good…just wake-up the fellas down the hall…

somethin’ tells me it’s the old wife callin’…could be…playin’ tricks…she always played tricks…messed with my head real good all the time…as if it was some kind of game for her…some kinda’ sport…she’d tell me one thing then do another…or not say anything at all…kept me guessin’ that way…they do that you know…

there goes that phone again…i’m not answerin’ it this time…just gonna’ let it ring…ring and ring and ring and ring….hell… it can ring all night for all i care…not gonna’ walk over to it…let by-gone’s be by-gone’s…

you don’t fool me honey…i know that’s you callin’…callin’ cause you want me back…that’s what that’s all about…some kinda’ sick obsession you have…well i’m not fallin’ for it…

go-on…keep callin’…keep callin’…you’ll tire yourself out…you’ll make yourself sick from callin’ so-much…you always got all emotional ’bout certain things…movies…books…articles in People magazine you’d read in bed…and now you’re gettin’ emotional over me…you can’t win sis…you can’t force me to pick-up that phone again and be disappointed…i won’t stand for it…i won’t…

hello…

hello…

that you…

it’s me…

you been callin’ all this time…

don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout…

so you haven’t been callin’ and hangin’-up…

what a fool thing to do…

where are you…

no-where…every-where…

can ya’ give me a straight answer…

I love you…

we been through this…

I know…

i’m gonna’ go now…

wait…

what…

I said I loved you…

let me be…let me be…

O.K. …

stop callin’ here…

alright…alright…

now goodbye…

goodbye…

give her an hour…she’ll start callin’ again…that’s what they do…play tricks…love to make me out for a fool…she don’t know what love is…she sure as hell don’t…sure as hell don’t…

i’m not gonna’ answer that phone…

microwave popcorn…
peanut butter…
saltines…

strawberry preserves…
jugs of cold water…
instant coffee…
powdered hazelnut creamer…

payday is coming…
a feast for a week…
then back to…

microwave popcorn…
peanut butter…
saltines…

strawberry preserves…
jugs of cold water…
instant coffee…
powdered hazelnut creamer…

and these are the wages of sin…

all these people…
talk…talk…talking loudly…
even the sign language screams…

everyone desperate to be heard…
no-one listening…
just noise…waiting their turn…to make noise…

business deals…
office gossip…
incoherent…too much…

tuned-out…
wanting nothing…
silence is needed…

to be alone…
alone…
alone…