Dead, instead of running from
the demons. Demons, rampant
in this Godless place.
The Officers on Duty
Do keep an eye on things.
But they don’t exactly
come rushing to my rescue.
Don’t worry. You’ll survive,
says one, a woman about
the size of a steer.
Frigging tweakers are all
alike.
Whiners. Sweat that
shit out of your system,
you’ll be good as new, ’cept
for lacking a few brain cells.
You wanna see ugly, watch
a wino in lockup, fighting
d.t.’s. Oh, mama, now that
is some scary shit.
I’ve heard hard-core alkies
can die without booze. That
they bring ’em fixes, so they
don’t croak in custody. I call
that out-and-out prejudice.
Injustice. Maybe I should sue.
I Don’t See Trey
Until the arraignment.
We share the defendants’ table,
the public defender who stands