Parking lot social club
Watching cats dodge headlight beams of idling cars.
I’m carried away in a language I do not understand
I’ve already wasted today. All there is left to do is sit and wonder
about how much of me was already gone before I gambled my remainder
in a hunger strike painted like healing.
How many people have saved their own life in a parking lot?
How’d they let it happen?
You are somewhere, I think
baked deep in the pockets of my
charcoal veins.
They called him Toast.
Because of the drugs
Nobody loved him very much and he was not old enough to vote.
Were you in those veins too?
Did you get crowded out by needle spit?
Did you tell him what he needed to know before
he turned himself into a collection plate
for that sleepwalked Church of Wounds?
If this is not a temple,
This parking lot,
This maze of lowlight alters
To the gods of Something Else,
I do not know what is.
“For where two or three come together in my name, I am there with them.”
Can you please
Make an exception
For me tonight?
I am alone in a parking lot
And I do not feel well.
Ode to Some of the People in Parking Lots
Sheeeeeesh... powerful. “A hunger strike painted like healing” ... felt this all the way through 🙏🏼