Pondering the Pavement
The cold pavement is hostage to anguish and blues
filled with dealers, pimps, and guys like Louie the Bum
who hustles dimes and quarters from drivers
hoping the traffic light stays green
so they can pass beyond the railroad trestle
that crosses above the road
It separates the depth of their fears
from desperate people
who languish in an atmosphere of miserable, gloomy grief
with empty eyes focused on nothing
but days and nights in a sideshow dressed as confusion
Where they wander the cracked sidewalks
lined with bars and empty buildings, soaked in broken glass
where scattered garbage is blown around like tumbleweeds
crossing the pavement of the damned, who linger on the edge of life
hanging onto each breath of lament
searching for something without a description
weighed down by their decomposing soul
that begins to peel away their last vestige of humanity
leaving nothing but ground-up up fragile memories
of what could have been
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