The Truth
by Jeffrey Bussey

          You don't know what it's like! I see the plants, the ducks and the walrus all running around talking about the same shit! The neighbors don't care. They just let them be. Let them run up and down clouds like they were painted on my face.
          I told them I didn't want to take their stupid fucking medication. I looked at them and said, "You got some shit, he has got some shit, my back hurts but I got eyes on the top of my head and you haven't seen shit!"
          I see how people look at me. That's why I show them my penis and all the rest of the shit in my pockets. To let them know, yo, if you fucking come down my alley you better not shit here. No, no, no way, Señor Jose. You just click-clack your shoelaces all back around your neck. See how it feels!
          I can't get a job because the Job-Man tells me I smell, and I say fuck you and your stupid rooftop and bubble wrap and eyeballs and bathrooms!
          Letters don't mean shit! I read the newspapers, but they are all lies. They say things like, "The Stock Market's Down" or "The Giants Won!" But that shit don't make sense. People need to know the truth; that the world is like a brick and I sleep on that brick and at night, sometimes, I hate that brick. It speaks to me saying, "Awwwe poor little guy. You just want to sleep, don't you?" I tell it to shut the fuck up. Then it just starts screaming at me, "YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO SLEEP. NEVER EVER EVER LIKE THE BIRDS WITH THE FEATHERS, AND THE PINEAPPLE, AND THE FUCKING ARMY, AND THE FUCKING HOUSES, AND THE FUCKING TEENAGERS WHO DRUNKENLY PISS ALL OVER YOUR ALLEY!"
          Sometimes I can get it to shut up by punching the dumpster.
          I sleep behind the dumpster because of the cops. They are the only ones who can see me. But not here. Not in my alley. They can't just push me aside and say, "Move along." Or, "I thought I told you, you can't be here." Because they would be here, too. Then I would just talk to them. Ask them politely what they thought of the broken bottles and tree trunks who get best friends pregnant.
          No one will give you change if you just ask. You have to do something else, like show them your penis or steal it. You have to have your eyes on, watching the birds go down, and the plates pile up, and the books being burned on the barbecue. Then sneak over and get it. You have to smell it. Use your nose to pick up the headlights and sprinkle wind and water all over it and then eat. A feast fit for a King. I am a King. I eat the bird, the walrus, and the trash. I see the electricity moving through the air. I see the lines of color strike and kill all of your children. I see when the hen shits the egg that the farmer's daughter sits on, when she is in the coop making out with hopefully me.
          I don't need help. I got thirteen jackets on my back right now. I am doing just fine. Everything I need, I will find in the sky. I search through the jungle like forks and spoons, sing songs like the butterflies.
          I am not rude. I don't judge you like the bottles or the clerk at the corner store. I don't tell you you can't buy what I have. But you can't so don't even fucking look!
          I keep my neck on my body for guys like you. I see how the gears turn when the mouth works. I see how the trees fall when the street sweepers clean. I hear the vibrations when the world shifts, but you bet your ass I can't feel it. And then I touch my head and wonder why I am bleeding and no one will speak to me.