Downtown I walk for about a mile in squares.
There were short and thick men behind bars.
They are never clean, these men.
And their dirtiness makes them objects of lust.
I think it's religion that makes that possible.
Or sex is simply dog eat dog,
And when we set our teeth into the submissive we are aroused.
And when we have the opportunity to role on our backs,
With consciousness, willing, out of costume, well,
Who would throw that ticket away.
I would not.
I sat in the cool shadows of these men,
And my brain is a pimple train, of secret running out of the left side of my eye
The more comes out the better I feel but where does this stuff go?
I watch the governmentworkers eating.
I watch all the mexican people in their pretty dresses with their children.
I think they think this is downtown in Mexico. They think this is just a city.
Don't they know what this is down here?
So I run threads through the secret community of them,
And I am one of them now and no longer on my knees.
There's somebody named Ivan and I saw him at a party he's the guy people said to stay away from.
He put an armful of crank into me and before the needle was out I was on the floor.
It wasn't his fault really, he was just trying to be a nice guy.
Everybody likes a big shot.
I had no clothes at all, no shoes.
I like parading
I liked walking around the empty city after everyone was in their drugless beds.
Every inch of concrete was mine.
I could
Sit on any step.
And all angry clouds were made by me.
I had been kicked out of hippy houses all over Seattle.
The house on John street, 6th and John.
They had me sleeping on the roof out there.
Those guys in their thirties who listened to jazz all the time.
The one was really nice.
He argued with his room mate to let me stay.
I had nowhere to go.
The other guy said he didn't care.
I'd find somewhere.
Jesus, she'll end up back at Ivan's.
So the oth
