Thoughts From a Homeless Man, Simeon, Ranger of the Sky
when the booze gets to me and nobody will care,
because of my beard or stink or hair,
I curl up under the cardboard and fly away,
to a place high up in the air
my brown hands part the partial, tipsy clouds,
hanging together like freshly laundered shrouds,
or like cops in a bar in a good part of town
I just fly man; fly in my titanium, uranium, cranium suit,
all cherry blossom soft linen, cute:
but I don’t know if I can keep it up, this cerebral act,
this fornication, supplication, altercation with the brew;
I really just don’t know; it’s kind of simple like a dimple, or
maybe a stubborn pimple, that’s never, going away; see,
I really just don’t know the time of day, or what to say,
or which crazy, hazy, game to play
and folks around just curse at me; they only see the walking
wreck, the speck, what the heck, not the man who used to be
a father, brother, son and lover;
no its all changed now, not for the better, never get a meal
with fetter; it’s crisps or pizza, scraps or pie, sometimes they
just spit in my eye;
yes I know it’s a severe admission, faulty cognition, its spiral
crashing aircraft position; but it’s like that here, where I’m at,
in the medication, obfuscation, strangulation cardboard city stay
So next time you see me and you look away all sly, unwilling to
look me, straight in the eye, remember, remember, with your
embarrassing sigh;
your’e looking at Simeon, Ranger of the Sky
Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015
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