I had cried out for home    
In the midst of all out wreckage  
An onslaught of bad days  
Bad people    
Bad things to do    
To good people    
To feed a bad habit    
    
There lay my bad seed soul on the filthy carpet    
I had rolled on it    
I had taken a nap on it    
And the polyester fibers    
Had attached themselves to my brain    
The pseudo soft mesh of red *****    
twisted into grey matter    
    
And I cried out for home    
God I believe    
And no words for him    
Aside from that thing    
In my tummy    
Wrenching that I needed him    
    
And to the alleys again    
Once more in the morning after    
I pulled myself up    
Sticky faced    
And mouth curved an OG grin    
With hip walk down lick street    
My lean serious    
My intent Ill    
The illest    
    
Then behind me sirens spin    
‘‘Twas the cop    
From the night before    
Or, the night of    
Whenever    
Or the day I    
And I probably did    
I don’t remember    
    
But he was sure of it    
And my wrists were soon tight with steel    
Key lock    
And pale faced feeling    
Drained to my knees the rest of me    
Slid into seat    
Customary head tuck    
And to county jail    
    
Booked in    
****** up    
Off grin    
I had been too tired    
To argue much that stripes and numbers were not my color    
    
I was going to stay a while    
A little vaca a go go    
Hell no you can’t leave    
But    
At last a place to really sleep    
And eat    
(Insert here any form of gelatinous ooze)    
    
And just to break the serious monotonous    
Time......    
....................(you cannot imagine what whir lies between those kind of) ........ticks....    
    
I found my hustle    
  
For a beautifully    
Artfully    
Passionately rendered Madonna and child I did for a stud broad    
She traded me three e gig filters    
(I shoved up my *******)    
Aughhh...    
“nicotine baby, hadn’t seen you in a while.”    
    
And I considered this    
And I asked why    
She had fortuned my ****** with this wealth    
    
A big woman they called Squirrel    
Who had sported stripes on the daily    
And would be for 15 plus more years    
Said to me    
“Because I need to make these grey walls home.”    
She stuck up the Madonna    
With toothpaste and spit    
And sat down to pray    
    
And here’s the thing    
About God    
And    
About stud broads called Squirrel    
Both have quite the surprising answers    
To questions    
You ask    
Or prayers you did not know you’d cried out    
    
Prayers like    
I want to go home    
  
And big bad women    
With our lady of perpetual hope    
Lightening the dark of their eye    
Show you how to make it