Author Information
aloud
I am writing to the victories,
Which could not be mine.
I am telling them,
I will have them after all.
The poor savior-motherfucker
Cannot reconcile saving lives
With morality.
He just knows
He cannot carry immorality
In his needy arms.
He cannot term it that,
At least.
The poet
Sees the fools distracted from his poetry,
Focusing on his poems.
The kid tans his arms,
And shaves his armpits,
He chases after girls,
But talks to guys.
A proud ambassador of East LA,
He lives in Fontana,
He walks the streets of Alta Loma,
And curses the rich people,
He has become.
The asshole is telling me of my cruelty,
And wondering if I could comfort him.
So I’m telling him of my comfort,
And that it requires his death.
He begins to utter his objections,
But suddenly we are both comforted.
She said I smeared her face in it,
I corrected her,
All I did is wipe the shit from my shoes,
Which she had wanted me to call family.
His girlfriend had an excuse for her slurred speech,
And the wit to match,
He tried figuring out his now,
Then he cried;
Realizing,
He was just a suicide note,
For a woman too scared to kill herself,
But unable to stop reading him aloud.
