meditating on a closed homeless shelter…

 

the brown bag prophet
said
i live
in
the empty spaces
life’s
denied
moments
where eyes
avert
and
prayers
fall on deaf ears
i’m
not alone
there are
children
and
their parents
in
these spaces
parents
of
all sorts
atheists
bible thumpers
and
those confused
by
god’s words
and
his deeds
as
well
as
certified heroes
and
criminals
those ungainfully employed
and
otherwise destitute
by
their attempt
at
existence
all
forming
society’s sediment
sediment
along
these streets
paved
with human gold
and
blood diamonds
diamonds
worn
no doubt
as
symbols
of
heaven’s stars
but
more likely
as
hell’s burning embers
but
who’s to say
not those
of us
living
in
the empty spaces

 

mandatory…

 

carefully removing
her dreams
she sat naked
on the floor
staring out
into the night
her room lit only
by
the headlights
of
passing cars
shedding all
her
disbeliefs
she
offered up
another prayer
this time
not herself
but
for those
who sat naked
not
of
their own
choice

 

thank you note…

 

you’ve grown old
and
although
you deny
the
mirror’s assessment
i
am
forced
to be the first
to
confirm
it’s
findings
you
are
old
you
walk old
you
even talk
old
and
the
terror
on my face
is
because
you
drive
old
whenever
you
insist upon
chaffering
me
for my
own
safety
i
do appreciate
your
concern
but
you
are
old

 

powerless to stop it…

 

there’s always
an antiseptic smell
before
death
as if
we truly
believe
we might
cleanse death
from
our being
it’s
a fragrance
of
age
we know it
all
too well
from
nursing homes
and
hospital halls
but
sense it
even as
we walk
along a city street
it makes us
most sad
when
a passing child
has whiffs
of
death
we wonder
why
and
where is
god
but are
soon distracted
by
armani
arden,
or
fresh-baked goods
until
when naked
in
the shower
we
find
that
fragrance