Don’t Take My Knife Away

The marble hallways were yellowing, and the back of my mind was cussing like a fidgety drunk drying out, and there were no coffins lying around to pose in, and there wasn’t a hardware store open in any neighborhood nearby. I was squinting hard like some dope who’s lost his glasses in a pool hall. The alleys were rife with the secondhand smoke of former labor leaders. There were no places to be, and for this I was eternally and unabashedly…