A boy he tried this once,
a boy he nearly died.
Before his life’s blood reached full boil
a boy he nearly died.
And as he lay there on the street
in the cool morning dew,
awash in a swirl of images from
a future never lived,
as he lay there, cooling in the gutter,
his hope became a lie,
his life became a fiction,
the camera whitened
and yellowed all the pages
and spun along with him,
as he lay there, as dead as the cement beneath
and twice as black,
thrice as grey.
Then, as a diver breaks the surface
to taste the air once again,
The sputtering engine of his heart turned over,
and like an automaton he jerked upright to stare
wildly at a world that would not let him go.
A morning unlike any other,
devoid of love and full of closed doors.
See how he tries to flee the trap he put himself into!
How he searches for an exit!
A word to put everything to rights.
And who called the cops?
Who called his father, hours later?
How did they know who he was?
Did he tell them?
A thin and stupid youth,
less than a predator’s snack,
should have been left to die.
Should have been left to cry.
To wonder why.
First draft: 140505
Published: 231124