you know them the ones walking on the edge of existence with lives emptied of hope and purpose going through survival rituals perpetuating the meaningless ignored by those who should care those good christian souls who for some reason are unable to see them and extend a helping hand christians no doubt baptized in dirty bath water
now listen friend
though
it ain’t supposed to be
they’ve buried
their dead
in that barren fenced-in lot
right over there
all burial services have been
fine
celebrations of life
by
homeless persons
services were conducted
by a fellow
called
preacher
don’t know if he is
but
he does have a way
with
words
didn’t have to dig the graves
since
parts of the oil pipeline
caved in
during
the last set
of
thunderstorms
creating
a number of sinkholes
coffins
have been made from
leftover crates
from
the pipeline company
sure
a lot cheaper
than those
from
funeral homes
in any case
i’m telling you this
cuz’
you asked
if
homeless people
truly appreciate life
i suppose
one could say
they appreciate it more
than most
for they have the least
of
what life has to offer
so
they’re not confused
or
overwhelmed
by its shiny objects
when the misery
we see
is in eyes
that look
like
ours
our hearts
open up
and
we hear
there
but
for the grace of
that’s
when we
offer up
a small portion
of
self-pity
to another
such
self-centered behavior
no doubt
feels
good for a while
but
like
a child’s
out of sight
out
of mind
stage of development
the misery
is soon
forgotten
a frozen body
in the fetal position
lies on the sidewalk
before life’s final hours
a vibrant human being
but the death of compassion
in humankind has
averted eyes of concern
to deny what’s known
that human fate can be altered
no one needs to die alone
frozen on the cold hard pavement
got no angels
to
talk
to
today
just
the old man
down
the street
holding
a brown bag
talking
about
how jesus
has
saved
his soul
can’t understand
how
some
homeless
souls
can see
the wonders of heaven
among
the city’s sweepings
for
i’ve lost
such
visions
or
perhaps
best
labelled
fantasies
life
does that
to
some of us
the veneer of promises
is
stripped away
by
reality
leaving us
with
the bare
roots
of
life’s truths
but
you don’t need
to
listen
to my words
for
that
would be
another case
of
blind
belief
although officially labelled homeless he and his partner doris live beneath the third street bridge and have done so for the past ten years most folks in continuously connected corporate housing projects the suburbs surrounding the bridge are aware of this fact which has apparently and consistently escaped census takers since no one has taken the time to incorporate their numbers into the state’s quest for more delegates to meaningless political conventions a true sign of their outcast position in society be that as it may said homeless people have been strongly encouraged to find a home home as defined by some fat dude
in city hall who not only has had new solar electric speed monitoring signs installed on his street but also has had street lines repainted to conform to his version of eden in any case he had officers of the law assist with the relocation of homeless people unfortunately relocation meant dislodge so once again the solution is at the expense of those designated as the beneficiaries and of course runs counter to common sense
an ancient message carved onto the pāhoehoe much like lovers do today upon the bark of stately trees billy loves mary and to the right just below this declaration of undying love mary loves robert we needn’t work too hard to complete that story but these petroglyphs are undeciphered so we impose meaning to them just as we impose meaning upon the homeless faces we see along the street his ragged clothes means he doesn’t care her shopping cart means she’s a worthless thing his comforter of newspapers means he refuses to work but if i carved the look upon your face as you stare at them onto the pāhoehoe what would the tourists say about you
a disheveled man just outside the market collecting recyclable bottles and cans shuttling his mobile stainless steel wireframed home from one bin to the other young but aged by war it would seem given his desert camouflage pants and jacket he did not ask for anything but he looked in need of a meal so i gave him some cash in return he shared his political views and concise concerns for the welfare of the world as i entered a banker type leaving the market commented to me how horrible his day was with stock prices going down
though cut from the same fabric they did not fit the design so they were scattered along the streets and alley ways some were stored and piled high in refugee camps but if woven together with love and care they would make a very fine coat of many colors the type i’m told preferred by god
what instrument shall I play for you
shall it be a magic flute
with melodic tones
that drift you into an even deeper sleep
where you can claim
this to be the best of all possible worlds or shall i play a song
that stirs your soul
a march
perhaps
that will let you see
the world around you
where slavery still exists
and hate burns deep
into the souls of men
like the searing heat
of a branding iron
or shall i play
a clever little melody
with notes to let you see
a child’s badly bruised face from a loving parent
or the makeup covered scars
of your neighbor’s adorable wife or perhaps you would prefer
some blues
to help you see
the deep stench of misery
of a ragged homeless person
or a flag caressing a parent’s coffin while small hands are left behind
whatever you choose
please tell me the key
so as to unlock
the heart within you
Read Between the Minds 