A short story, but first...

Due to my current problems with posting poetry, I have decided to add some fiction to the blog. I hope it is enjoyable as I hope my poems have hopefully been to all you non-commenters.

This city stinks. The air is thick with the scum. As I walk down the alley I can see them all. Soggy newspapers, cardboard boxes, heaped blankets covering the filthy maggots. These people represent all that’s wrong with life in the city. During the day they roam the streets asking for money and cigarettes so they can get their next fix. Come nighttime they huddle together in dark back-alleys preying for warmth and rocks to get by. They don’t even consider making an attempt at joining proper society.
A pile of rags sags and heaves, sags and heaves. As I approach, the stench thickens and the bile rises in my throat. Even to perform my righteous task, it makes me sick to get so close to such a derelict cesspool. The pocket of my trench coat is heavy with silver. Silver meant specifically to help this junky on the ground. I provide the necessary assistance for the less than human to move on from their pathetic ways of living.
Closer now, almost within arms reach, preparing myself for the one moment that makes my journey worthwhile. My chance to do my part in making this a better city to live in.
I put my hand on his shoulder and gently stir so as not to startle him. Wait…it’s a woman. Almost makes it easier. For God’s fairer creature to let herself slip so low. A more blasphemous crime against the upright, I do not know. A dirty, pockmarked face rolls out of the soiled stitching surrounding the beast, and glassy red eyes gaze up at me, already begging for my holy help.
“Have you accepted Jesus Christ into your heart?” She looks confused by my query. I place my hands under her arms and lift her to her feet. She wobbles slightly before finding something almost resembling balance. With one hand still under her arm steadying her, I reach into my coat pocket. Touching my silver, I feel a steady vibration, sending the familiar, low hum of excitement into my ears. My silver gleams in the passing headlights and screams forward. Once, twice, three and four times steel pierces crusted dirt; torn, damp cloth; flesh, and finally nerves, arteries. My silver is home.
I drop the bum on her heap of paper and rags to wallow in a pool of her own blood, vomit, and whatever other putrid functions she has been letting loose into her nest of grotesquery. Her confused expression stays frozen to her face as I turn back toward the main drag. This is the cleanest she has ever been, I think without looking back. I feel the city thank me and make sure my blade remains concealed. I’m one step closer to making this place holy. This city needs me. The sun will shine a bit brighter on this avenue tomorrow and nobody will know how or why. They will remain distant from what has happened here, but they will all silently enjoy what I have done for them. I am the hammer that finally falls. I am the shining vaccine to the disease of urban decay. I am the antidote to the poison they have all tasted. I am the Will. The Way.

A comment on blogging poetry

I realize now, after posting my most recent poem, that this website does not give me the same capabilities that I enjoy on my word processor program. As you can see the entire poem is left aligned. This is not how the piece looked when I typed it out on MS Word, or for that matter, on the page where I type my postings. I usually copy and paste my posts from Word onto the webpage for posting, but when they get over here I have to tweek them a little bit in order to get the format back to how I want it to be. Well, I did that with this latest post, but clearly on blogspot.com any usage of the spacebar amounts to shit. At least skipping lines registers. If anybody knows a way to alleviate this grievance of mine, please post it to my comments section. Until then, I will continue to bring you all of my best half-way-to-how-I-want-them masterpieces. (Insert previous rant on my deepseeded hatred for technology)-I'll spare you a new one. -Jasper Pipestone

A new poem

Wet Dream

I had a vision of myself in a hot air balloon with a woman by my side.
Who knew who she was,
I rarely do.
Even so the flame burned so hot.
Douse the fire with water,
This contraption will not falter.
Held by a single straw basket amidst the clouds like a bail of hay in a cotton field.
Weightlessness settles upon us two as we embrace high above the ocean,
Lake,
Pond,
Shit…
It fades.
There was never a woman and never a balloon.
The passion escapes the scene-
Clouds disintegrate, the water beneath is suddenly
sealed by dangerously rocky beaches; like the blowing of
the final light bulb that lit
the future,
vividity is eradicated.
It was nothing but a cocaine daydream.
One thing was real-I’m weightless.
This is how it goes:
I only float for a moment until
gravity pulls me down and sanity pushes. Awareness skyrockets my
velocity but I haven’t come an inch closer to
the inevitable bottom of my plunge. I am the bastard son of
my own dreams, forsaken by whoever I think I am.
But some of the greatest artists are the worst kind of people,
Attempting to one-up their heroes.

That’s the one thing my self will never become,
And one of many that keep me falling and prevent me-
From floating.