View source for Joe Morishige - Pick and Pull Poem

Poetry:

Meandering into the heart of things, into the urban jungle of the martinez commercial district. The earths crust is covered in broken tarmac, broken glass, trash, spit, and the spirit is cut open for everyone to see. The hustle is not hidden, it’s happen right before your eyes. Tacos steeped in grease, a senriorita smiling at you, warning your apparent soft mouth that things aren’t mild around here. 

I’m such an outsider in this land and feel remorse slinking around the front of my consciousness, I feel left out from this real working mans life. Its so dirty and so simple and so beautiful.  Men come in to pick off what they need like blackbirds on a gutter donut. I can feel the rigid life and I feel so far removed because of this screen I’m typing on. 

I sit leaned back on a chain fence surrounded by this. I’ve never seen trash look so beautiful, so in its place. This trash belongs like the trash of myself and the mounds of garbage my life leaves behind.  Everything is utilitarian around me, so much practicality. Car door knobs on a peg board hanging on the wall waiting to finish the job a thief started, coming full circle back to the false sense of security. 

I bask in the threatening nature, the dog bark, the shady business. I sit here looking at my soul mate of a guitar and let her know it’s going to be alright. We must surrender to the people who keep us afloat. We are nothing without them and we are everything without them. We are flipping furiously on the same coin. The coin held by a jester doing cartwheel on a squishy floor like a pre-pubescent gymnast breaking her joints to bits for the sake of a shiny metal. 

I don’t know where I am going, I don’t know why this comes, but here it is, it cannot be stopped.