I am the perfect example of a pathetic fallacy.
Loneliness wanders the night’s streets drinking.
His paper bag camouflage is betrayed
by an awkward sway,
a murmur of mumbling,
as he's stumbling over
words and the curb.
Falling 90 degrees to a concrete collision,
he's content with sleep on a
slab of cement,
feeling no fear as the loneliness fades,
replaced by a dreamless sleep.
This is the third time I've edited this poem, and probably the tenth time I've changed the title. (I think I finally found one with meaning.) It now looks much different than the original, but I think I'm pretty satisfied with it.
