Woolly Mammoths

by on February 28, 2017 :: 0 comments

Way past constipation and injection marks
We plundered
Ice cold eyes on the hunt for an ice aged myth
Woolly mammoth they called it
But we didn’t care
They could’ve called it certain death
And we would buy all we could and came back for more
Better than sex the addicts say
I don’t know about that
But it was pretty damn close and a whole hell of a lot cheaper
So we chilled
At some slum dog dirt floor section 8 housing in South Detroit
“The hood” we called it before we realized it lived and breathed
It was a white boy adventure
Like a life and death roller-coaster ride
With needles and whores and police chases
And when we were done we rode the two hours back south and passed out without even locking our cars
But there were a few who wanted to ride too often
And they died with needles in their arms
Their mommas crying at the slack jaw lifeless body of their boy that just fed “the hood” and got spit out in his parents
And we soon discovered this wasn’t a ride at all
But a hunting field
With decoy woolly mammoths

editors note:

Obsessed after ecstasy. Edged toward extinction, instead. (We welcome Adam to our crazed conclave of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out). – mh clay

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