A Jesuit looking fellow was selling some kind of flower
\nplant that looked like a magnificent bloom of blackberries,
\nor very large peppercorns, and he was washing them in a
\npool of fresh spring water that formed at the bottom of a
\nheavenly mountain. Slopping them with sea salts.
\nBundling them in tissue paper. All for $16.75. What
\nbullshit this was, and people were buying it! Sending their
\nloved ones to war, or some reenactment of a civil
\nmovement. Like some celebrated holiday. All in costume.
\nAnd some got so in to it, they felt a divine spark come over
\nthem and began shedding their clothes, and dunking their
\nnaked bodies in the very same basin that you could buy a
\npeppercorn popsicle for $16.75. Franticly trying to scrub
\naway whatever madness they could. But always asking for
\nan all natural soap, the kind that doesn’t clog your pores.
\nAfter seeing this act of weakness and absurdity for about
\n20 minutes, I decided to leave California and head east, to
\na more advanced debauchery. Hopping from one decrepit
\ntrain to another. Always on the lookout, for god and wife.<\/p>\n
Devils In Stilettos<\/strong><\/p>\n A triad of splashy queers in their late sixties, were Absent<\/strong><\/p>\n I’m waiting for the knocks at the door. By Eric David Lough<\/strong>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":119,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8664","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8664","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/119"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8664"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8664\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8664"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8664"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8664"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nleering and hounding on a public transit, causing a gulp
\nof disgust in the well mannered throats of the lily-white
\ntight asses, and they were all dressed in street walking
\ndrag, with tears streaming down their rough cheeks, fed up
\nwith being stoned and stabbed by the so called righteous
\nin this 21st century Sodom and Gomorrah. Just another
\nlonely nights walk on broken dreams, and their manly legs
\nwere badly in need of a shave. These forbidden lovers in
\ndisguise, were always keeping one eye on the hustle. The
\ntrick. Not caring who they offended, or tossed a quick
\none on. No matter the time of day, or the place, it was
\nalways business and lipstick for these devils in stilettos.
\nWith their gold chain purses and bulging Adam’s apples.
\nTempting every single soul with fake eyelashes, agonizing
\ncrocodile smiles, and hypnotizing flavors of the ancient
\nlands. This was the last compelling beauty. The last
\nmischievous thrill ride through an imperfect, despondent
\nworld.<\/p>\n
\nThe naked girls in the hall.
\nThe banging of pans and tambourines.
\nThe tip of the hats.
\nThe shots at the bar.
\nThe kissing and grab assing.
\nThe fucks
\njust because.
\nI’m waiting
\nfor all of these things.
\nLike all the rest of the poor shleps.
\nDeep sighs and sticky thighs
\nwrapped at the waist.
\nThen I get a letter in the mail,
\nIt says,
\nDear Quixote
\nI’m waiting for you,
\nbut you must come to Jersey. <\/p>\n![\"img_30522\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2009\/05\/img_30522.jpg\")
\nABOUT THE AUTHOR<\/strong>
\nEric David Lough<\/strong> is the author of two books of poetry titled, “Pistol Whipped” and “Lassoed With A Decorative Tongue.” He has been traveling all over America for the past 15 years, living in Ohio, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii and Colorado. Mr. Lough’s work has appeared in Wordletting Ezine<\/em>, Memoir(and)<\/em>, The Ampersand Review<\/em>, Breadcrumb Scabs<\/em>, A Generation Defining Itself<\/em>, and many other literary journals. Mr Lough’s work can be purchased through any online bookstore or you can visit his website<\/a>. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"![\"img_30521\"](\"https:\/\/www.3ammagazine.com\/3am\/\/wp-content\/uploads\/2009\/05\/img_30521-150x150.jpg\")
I’m waiting for the knocks at the door.
\nThe naked girls in the hall.
\nThe banging of pans and tambourines.
\nThe tip of the hats.
\nThe shots at the bar.
\nThe kissing and grab assing.
\nThe fucks
\njust because.
\nI’m waiting
\nfor all of these things.
\nLike all the rest of the poor shleps.<\/p>\n