Sunday, January 3, 2016

Delray, Detroit

also known as:
Belgrade
or Del Rey
or
"of The Kings"
and then finally, Delray
as the name was changed into a more English version...

some might also refer to Delray as:
a shit hole
or a ghost town
or wasteland...

for me:
it's what I called, "home"

I can smell it from here:
45 minutes North
in my suburban home
safe from the stench that is the
waste water treatment facility.
safe from the stench that is
the 48209...
Zug Island
Dead Krak Heads
the Marathon refinery.
45 minutes North...
but I can't kid myself
the stench of Belgrade has burned a place into my soul,
my bones,
my heart.

tonight,
as i sit here and type
from my relatively odor free
and spacious office/spare bedroom
the streets of Delray have stayed with me
burned through the very fabric of my existence.
leaving a charred,
blackened,
soot stain, on my soul.

Delray is where I became a man
it's where I made my first series of bad choices
poor decisions...
it's where i first learned of virtue
and circumstance.

Delray is where i cut my teeth
it's where i took my first swing
my first hit
it's where i first, got hit:
stung
beat down
bloodied
broken
got back up, crawled back home,
and did it all over again.

Delray,
it's where i had to run away from,
to save what little bit of innocence,
i had left...

45 minutes North
i sit here typing
looking back,
thinking back
only going back,
to remind myself of where i come from,
so i won't forget.
45 minutes North
and who am i kidding?
i can still smell it from here...

it smells like home
it smells like death
it smells like:
West End
and the Delray Rec Center,
like the soap factory
on a humid August night
it smells like guns being fired
houses, being burned...
it smells like life being reduced to the lowest common denominator.
it smells like families- being torn apart
by crack cocaine,
by alcohol,
and hatred...
it smells like dreams being put aside:
washed away
drowned out
smoked out...
it smells like life
and death
and love.
like fighting
and fucking
and fear,
it smells like bloody fists
and broken screen doors.
it smells like
bruised egos
and tears...

but who am i kidding?
Del Rey is where i'm from
it's made me- who i am
and 45 minutes North,
and all these years later,
i'm doing ok
in spite of myself
and i wouldn't change a god damned thing...

except for maybe
that awful fucking smell...




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