Easy to Digest

List of everything I have stepped on today. Concrete slabs, cracks, gum, a cigarette butt, a pigeons feather, a slim jim wrapper, an empty pack of Chinese branded cigarettes, the sole of a shoe torn in half, a press on nail, a leaf, the roach of a blunt, a hair tie, the plastic casing of a six pack, a pamphlet for mayoral candidates, sand, bricks, grass, linoleum, trash bags, mud, my socks, wood, bath mat, gas and brake pedals, shoe scrub booties, a bar tab, a desk, a dream,

What kind of gun would Jesus carry? The question floats toward the dilapidated rafters in the house of God, four walls echo with colloquial drawls and buzzing mosquitoes born across the street in stagnant sewage. The question, coming from a man dressed in a long flowing white cloak, arrives at a crucial time in Sewersburg history. Word around town is that Jon-Boy, the town elder (once a privilege bestowed upon a whole fleet of people known as ‘teachers’), town drunk, and only

Forceful interrogations under dim headlights lead me to re-evaluate my age. When was the day I was born? How can I be sure that's my real birth certificate, and not one generated by the state of Indiana for purposes of initiation? Look here, it says my age - even has my exact birthday - how long ago was that? Why can’t I remember? Each day a backspace of my understood world. How much do you have to go through to live a life? - a question asked each passing year, holding my bi