Riker’s Island Prison is down the hill and across the river.
I wake up, look out the window and see another way to
escape. The funeral parlor swallowed up The White Castle to expand with a
beautiful gated parking lot and lights for mourners. Every night, I’m on
Death’s Row with Jesus and Apostles behind me on the face of a kitchen clock.
Every night, I run out of time.
I would be so blessed to get a last supper at the church
pantry.
I write to tattoo dreams and make them bleed in The South
Bronx of America.
I’m desperately seeking for others happily ever after.
For myself, life sucks wonderfully.
Have to go. Ran out of PC time.
Again
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