Nowhere Man
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Title borrowed from a Beatles' song.
He stumbles toward the neon light,
shoulders hunched, face out of sight.
It's not respect he seeks, but space
to rest awhile, just need a place.
"But don't get Jeeter's place, he's mean,
and Mary Sue ain't all that keen."
There's hieararachy out on the streets,
abandonment in all he meets.
His life is played from score to score;
it doesn't goad him anymore.
He held the world but let it slip
while grasping for another hit
of that white bliss it always gave
while seeking its next hungry slave.
He'll make his bed on winter's street,
buy some pills for a sweet sleep;
with week-old news to keep him warm,
moonlight to kiss his tortured arm.
Copyright © Ann Peck | Year Posted 2021
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