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Woke Up From A fake sleep
October 20, 2010
God’s got you on
Your toes again, son.
Sneaker swoosh,
First-time banker, hand check
On a school bus,
First-time inside
Of her;
Natural, like
Madonna’s baby boy
In a crack den,
Quarantine, confession
Booth and open ears.
What a drag, man.
So bold and screeching
We had to be the polygraph,
Had to be the hanging chins,
The hipster smoke rings,
Had to be the contra tenor rudiment
On the priest’s smirking fingertips.
Coca-cola’s holy water,
Lukewarm swim to save a soul.
Don’t lie, son, it gets nasty.
© Jessica K., San Antonio, TX
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