Tuesday, October 6, 2009


In another life, Joseph might have been an astronaut, a pole vaulter, a doctor in South Africa.

He might have been what the world would call something.

But Joseph was not in space and he was not pushing into the sun and he was not facing death, Joseph was shit-stained and scrubbing a portable toilet.

When he was done, Joseph walked into the afternoon sun and let the caked shit dry and crack on his sanitary suit, and he watched the sun until it burned him deeply.

Then because Joseph lived in a corner of the park that was dark at night and unused and rangers rarely checked there, he laid quiet on a rusted bench and watched the stars until they surrounded him, fireflies.

Joseph fell asleep and wondered what it would be to die, to finally rest, but then he woke, and the sun compelled him to stand.

He walked off, to clean shit, to be nothing, and to understand everything.