Dakota Pederson
Bio
I started when I felt I could not reach any lower but searched for truth. Instead I found poetry in a thrift store on Sprague Avenue. Poetry is my truth.
Stories (4)
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Drunk Tank
Grey blue oxidized steel crumpled against an electrical pole. A nice soft memory. Cold steel and concrete floors. Measurements of a drunk tank. One blanket for each of the five men.Wasting. The pounding could not stop. The eyes remain. Fixed. Hopeless. 16 hours. Pine Sol. Disappointment. Bend over. Look up. Spread em. Show us your left arm then right. All of your tattoos. What do they mean?
By Dakota Pederson5 years ago in Poets
El Raval
Christmas vomit remains in a bucket as a stray dog wanders by. I follow him. His fur is matted by the days and nights wandering the streets of El Raval. I carry the bucket to a fountain to wash it. The vomit mixes in the fountains water. I walk back through the streets in the morning light the dog no longer remains with me. Only the homeless and muslims linger outside their shops. The brain of the streets narrow and bend; cavernous and silent on this Christmas morning. The Christmas stupor has set in.
By Dakota Pederson5 years ago in Poets
A Better World
Brown Yellow Black And White
By Dakota Pederson5 years ago in Poets
