Three weeks, every day, God tells me to walk these streets - I look around everywhere and find no sign. Not a fucking one but street preachers jagging how they got saved two blocks down. Hammers on concrete. Drills against skeleton skyscrapers. Beeping dump trucks in reverse. Prettiest cell phones, children in tow of business mom, business dad. The Rolling Stones in a boom box. Car one passing, car two passing, car three. The trumpeted sounds of police officers now on scene. The hey mister at my leg. The hey there from the whores. So many airplanes, so many helicopters, metro cabs, so many street cars, nothing. God said go, I know it, I’m the best one for it, but there’s nothing here. Still.
There has to be something else come on come on come on///