chester giles writes

i didn`t shit. i didn`t pray

drunk.
i could shit in the street
i`m sure the policía wouldn't like that
but my foot hurts
and home is a long way off
                 up a hill
and it`s four in the morning
still i hold it in and write these words instead
my mouth dry
and full of ashes
the crickets so loud the only thought my mind can hold
i am shadows drawn on uneven paving
                     what does it matter
something with the leaves here sounds like rain
i`m with that music in this heat
i`ll pray before i sleep tonight.