I gaze through them,dust creatures on their cement futons –sitting, sleeping, standing, and perhaps existing.I intrude upon my own mindand whisper “Humans, humans.”and I walk by.
All posts tagged poverty
American Dreams
Frozen, blank concrete won’t hold his words;even his mind no longer hears him,only receives the slur of an unkempt, entropic lifelike the night reception of a distant stationtalking love and life in a foreign tongue. Dime – he said – or time or chime orthe breeze takes itas he counts his grungy pennies, quarters, nickelswith…