a brown cardboard home
underneath a busy bridge
I hear the passing by of tied men and pumped feet
popping against the rough cement
the whirl of the wind curling in the arch of an underway
cuts the air through my ragged clothes
not a car zooms by these lonely days and nights
I am safe but I am not happy nor sad
I do not feel shame and I am not proud
the smell of the gutter spill from the city above
I take a liking in its never changing smell
only the river waves sing me to sleep
I veer out into the foggy streets
Not an eye sets its stare upon me
Only those curious enough to drop a bill or two into my water cup
that I hold out to the sky when it starts to rain
the river's poison I've seen a man die in it
the river runs wild I lost my tattered shoes to it
been starving for weeks
hoping that the trash man drives by soon
he'll drop some litter and I'll be rummaging
my stomach will hurt for days but I am satisfied
my body keeps running
and here in this brown cardboard home
I never gave to the ideas of
doubts,
regrets,
greed,
happiness,
love,
ambition or dreams.
I slept and I awake
I don't feel and I'm undead.
I'm torn but I piece myself together
I never understood why but why I feared that this might end
and someone might take me
and put me somewhere new
some place where I'm shaven and cleaned to the teeth
fingernails and toes
given new itchy clothes
and a shiny pair of shoes
I'll be looked to improvement,
pressure to make progress
progress to make good change
stress to bottle my mind full of senseless thoughts
to **** for peace
to work for paper
to follow rules the lawmakers do not follow
to dream but never achieve
I think I will go back to my little cheap motel,
the brown cardboard love,
the home made from less than a single tree
and I will be merry
to know I don't need those toils
I'll spend my day worse than dirt,
soiling my life free of turmoils.