Friday, December 7, 2007


Winter's wicked claws tear across my
face; they draw no blood, but shred my skin
until I fall awake
inside a doorway, in a city,
under blankets torn and old
I am choked by dirt and worms
but still protected from the cold.

When the freezing rain is falling, I
am certain I have earned my discontent,
just as I deserve this green oak
park bench as my bed

I could use some conversation;
I could use a warmer heart.
But I sleep with ghosts and needles
in this dead, abandoned park,
mumbling between my failing breathes:

"Excuse me, mister,
can you spare some change?
This city's cold
and these shoes have holes."

I caught you in an eye-to-eye
and still you kept on walking bye,
naked but your three-piece suit
and tie around your neck just like a noose

Feb. '07

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