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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I wouldn't want you to walk away with any miscalculations about me. I am about as wild and crazy as society will allow without confinement for my own protection. Whenever I read a self-marketing sign Please Help... Vacancies of home and body, Needing to be filled. I feel bearers of these signs of proper society's margins raw and naked, erased to try again. When I notice long-haired grunge, low-budget nomads with backpacks and shopping carts, heading toward me asking to not be excused for excusing relationships they need, I head in their direction to find our best resurrection of civility together. My husband begrudges every dime and points out I'm too wild for pouring mostly alcohol or worse down throats without a home. He claims they're addicted suicides awaiting death's forgiving embrace. But, I say this is too often true and who am I to judge those who explore doing their best of worst available options through self-medication mixed with sheltered soups and public kitchens serving lines of autocracy's dark drama Were I or he on that street rejected by our own history of defeat I would hope to find those wise enough to stay with me long enough to help medicate lubricate meditate my way to suffer with human emptiness and ask me please to stay, tell MAGAs all my blues, sing and dance this suffering buffering away. I'm retired. Have more cash than I could ever need, and don't want to go out that way, hoarding funds for those who already have too much while somewhere out there stands a homeless sign whose bearer needs to drink her lunch at least and most this day. If our legacy manifests both what we do for love and what we do not do from fear and shame and blame If both our actions and omissions, our positives and negatives, remain behind to feed up and starve out our kids, then why would I not choose to offer social caring when uncivilized neglect to care is so clearly that of which this homelessness was made.
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