Tuesday, March 13, 2007


he stands on the corner
night after night
listening to the moonlight
what is a waking dream
he'd ask you
if your pockets held some treasure
your voice pure with reason

he's heard the passers
barking from the edge
moving below his feet
whispering around his neck
and felt their hot fingers
playing their dark tunes
but he drifts within
this little opera of the street

let's go out into the city
shaking trees on 17th
make some howls together
and when we find that fella
doing his time until
the dawn can walk him
to some bed
we'll jingle our dimes
and rub our nickels

but then
what'll we do


Blogger Palm Springs Savant said...

stumbled on your blog this evening. Enjoyed reading your poetry...made me think a bit too.

Stop by and say hi sometime

9:40 PM  

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