there are those
who have disappeared
who we can see
each day
nameless to most
but well known
to street spirits
those
souls
that inhabit
the corners
of
society’s eyes
homeless
in
a traditional sense
no
neatly manicured
lawns
or
gardens
surrounding
snowwhite-like-cottages
cottages
built on land
stolen
from
indigious people
but
since
they have
no land
to be acquired
whatever self-respect
they possess
becomes
what the police
are instructed
to rip away
making those
in
the society
avert
their eyes
from
the naked souls
they have
created
words offered before burials or the hearts have stopped beating words on any other occasions might have raised the dead like the widow’s son at nain but these words with angelic tones are political sound bites that echo through polished marble hallways hallways that are the only grave markers and eulogies these homeless will ever have such concerned words just dry leaves crushed beneath the feet of inhumanity dust without life or life giving mere moments of fleeting guilt insincere regrets for inaction offered before the graves are dug or the bodies are even cold
along
the street
i saw
eyes
that
many
divert
theirs from
eyes
that hold
well worn dreams
and
tears of hope
that
what passes
as
normal
today
will soon become
a forgotten
nightmare
and
those looks
of
there but for the grace of god
will be
replaced
by a lover’s
embrace
and
looks
of
commitment
for
a life
together
those looks
of
love
really not
that
much to ask for
is
it
a phrase appended to small discounts and the occasional free meal but everytime i hear that phrase i wonder why it’s always the worker bees folks like you and me expressing their gratitude for something the drones those fat cat politicians and business execs gained from those insincere flag wavers who like drones in a queenless hive are permitted to survive living off the lives and deaths of others so it should be no surprise that they encourage everyone else to repeat what they should say but if the nation was really all that appreciative wouldn’t there be fewer homeless better medical care or something other than words for them to have maybe some of that corporate honey you know the money made from soldier’s and family’s sacrifices for the corporate nation something more than thank you for your service
a program on homelessness in america aunt bea said i think we should let homeless folks move into the white house that would probably be a good use of taxpayer money but aunt bea i said you do recall the new guy’s there she said child that’s a classic case of the lights being on and nobody at home
she gathers up plastic bottles along the roadside no place for her pride to hide talks to herself conversations presented aloud a voice in the crowd so proud she ignores stares social judgments rendered by the blind who refuse to find words kind she’s all alone on crowded streets carting around bags full of life’s old rags hope sags she turns quickly her alleyway finds a place to sleep then begins to weep fear’s weep
the brown bag prophet looking quite dapper stopped me and said i’ve decided to make a music video encapsulating urban sounds as my background while i read poetry lines of verse that bounce around in four five time something different for shuffling feet a city beat full of cosmopolitan heat a beat of gritty words often heard but ignored with artificial deafness like the virtual blindness that causes some folks to step around the poor when entering park avenue style doors to meet some poor working whore who pretends not to be bored with pinstriped suits worn by those clients who babble with pouts about first this and then that as if someone should pass around mercy’s hat a high price to pay just to have food for the day i’m certain it’s going to be a hit folks love hearing about those headed for hell’s pit
no angels on high proclaiming what to star to follow nor yellow brick road leading to oz just putrid city street lined with vacant lots vacant lots planted with the cast-offs of society this is the new way found in every city for mumbai to chicago ocean to ocean waves of derelict souls ignored and brought to the boiling point when they should’ve been kept refrigerated now the rancid consequence of ignorance takes it toll go ahead call the police they aren’t coming these streets are too dangerous for armed men best that you never arrive
taking a break from my employee-of-the-month contestant game chamber i headed outside sitting in the park i couldn’t help but overhear a street pastor talking to the brown bag prophet about the wages of sin how as an aging homeless man he needed to be concerned about the approaching judgement and the finality and darkness of death’s end the brown bag prophet smiled and said i’d rather think of it as reaching escape velocity
Read Between the Minds 