Today I walked from school to my friend Josh's house. It was nostalgic because we used to walk from school a long time ago, before the accident... before we grew up. I wonder why I feel so little. Here's a poem I wrote a while ago.

Bargain

by Mitch Jones
*Bargain* A star falls and pierces the heart of the heart of the chosen son. Messiah for the masses, preaching every Sunday and then drinking and smoking the rest of the week. Appearances on television, the dark gray of night creeps in from a radio blasting pop-religion just outside the window. A handless glove lays, rancid, on the tile of the kitchen floor. A cleaver, a rock, a white hooded horse. A victim of political and ethnic pride. A boy brought up in the heatland, then dropped from the concrete prison of the corporate world, onto the hard-place pavement of urban streets where angels are selling pencils and prophetic words for pennies: And they sell more pencils than words. The planet closes in around them. It is so dark and the neon light monsters scream at them about how they "Don't have all the answers!"