by Tomorrow's Man
November 14, 2002
A Ship, A Woman, A Man, Me, and God
A ship that defines death treads water where no sharks would survive for food, she sits on a vinyl seat above steel tracks molded a million miles from where her mother made her a whore to pay for potatoes, he steals fifty-seven cents out of the pockets and eyes of a dead man to satisfy a hunch that leaves from the space behind his teeth in a whine of hunger greater than the desire to crawl back to the womb, and my midnight ride takes me places that God constantly threatens to wash away, but luckily, for me, God has always been a bit lazy.