Lost Generation

We are a brother and sisterhood of lunatics
truck drivers and whores, cops and taxi drivers, drunks and strippers, Wawa clerks, ambulance jockeys, writers and insomniacs
Living 90 degrees perpendicular to you

Howling our lives on the lampdark streets
Chasing the wolf moon
Bleeding in the emergency room
drinking in bars and alleys
begging for change
shooting ambrosia of heroin or sex or sadness
riding up our skirts for a thrill or a tip or a ride
roaming the broken bones of the city still sooty from your footprints
biting back sarcasm of your shallow sunbright delusions
of your MacDonalds and Starbucks and Mommie Me
bulging silicone and sagging Botox

We are your reflection
In the mirror of dusk
We see the rays of the sun only reflected
Off the wolf moon
Or tracking across the dawn concrete
On our way home

When consciousness is a drug
And being awake feels like being drugged
Sleep is a privilege
The dark nectar of sanctuary from the darkness of life
90 degrees perpendicular to yours


e2k.4
status post night shift at Temple
Mugshots coffee shop
Philadelphia, 2004