hollow.
broke and destroyed, i sat in the puddle on hawthorne, watching dead clouds piss ash on the homeless skin-heads across the street. they pissed on my sleeping bag last night. asked me for an id like cops. i looked at them. brown eyes on green, and blue, and brown. i love you, i said. i love you, no matter what.
walked to the lake with them, at the top of mount tabor. the lake that formed from the downpour the last couple days. they passed hash with tobacco. took a hit. just a puff. enough to get me and the straggly haired chick next to me to interlace, and stare at the stars in the lake and talk mystery.
maybe the universe isn't above but below, and to get to the stars all we need to do is dive, she said. her brown hair falling over her pale cheeks, covering one of the greens, leaving the other to dart for answers in between the lake and me.
yeah, i said. except what've we don't come back?
then we'd accomplish the goal sought by every seeker in the post-hollow world, we would reach that place of bliss that the corporations and industries and bankers and shooters and presidents and politicians, and business men, and new-agers are leading us to anyway, cept, it'd be quick, without a middle-man.
right.
dove in. bloated in death. flotsam and jetsam...
...then did it again the next day. me and the skinheads turned existentialists, with tattoos of sartre and nietszche on their foreheads...
...walked to the top of the max station in gresham. dove through the fences, like vampires in our cloaks...dove till the pavement became a graveyard...
...did it again...this time in the city...this time with refugees from el salvador...this time it was under the a train in euclid, east, ny, before the dominican boys chasing us with bats could swing, before they decided to join us...
...did it again...and noticed everyone else did too, every day. it was an everyday thing...walking in the hollow...walking broken-hearted...
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