Out in no man's land
   sleeping in brier patches
unknown men and
     women sleep snatching a second
on beds of pine straw
      scrub oak leaves alone
with a mosquito or a cricket
buzzing a chirp so listen
                          to the      rain  a relief
like nature washes away
                                                grit
cold a constant enemy
                 or   companion
which is only a debate
                                 given now no admission

clouds are the furthest  thing , memories
are forbidden.
Sun is harsh and peace is gotten
when prayers are given
in a bottle  of gin
                           or one more hit.
                   And the big question remains-
     how in a land of plenty
so many are ignored
                               forgotten.