Author Information
Where I Live
No one escapes Houston,
The tribal point of humanity,
A breathing terror existing within walls of
Exuberant nothingness,
Walls full of shallow and
Empty dreams.
This city is a ripe, summer sausage
Fermenting in the sun,
A stuffed, processed meat product
Bursting with preservatives
And decayed animal flesh.
The rotting smell clings to your clothes
Like pesky cat hair.
Static electricity never
Ceases in existence.
Everywhere you look,
Something or someone lies petrified,
Caked in dirt
Smiling toothlessly.
Houstonians continue their
Creature-of-Habit faux pas
As murky immigrants panhandle your wallet
And offer to clean your
Already spotless, stately home.
The meaning of “Forbidden” is all but lost –
Shreds of lives hang limply
From lamp posts casting light of
An eerie disposition beaming inexorably on
Hapless persons lurking the city streets.
We are all searching for something:
Goals this city will
Never let us reach.
Forests are collapsing;
Eyes are blinking in frenetic symmetry.
Gods are dying.
When the Nuclear Holocaust
Finally perpetuates itself,
Vats of infested grease will
Flood the city.
The apocalypse.
