walking down back alleys
searching for consolidation
the wanderer takes the streets
the wanderer has no home
he follows the sound of
the deceitful racketeering
of the men sitting on his pride
choking it up
like a funeral service notice
2 weeks after the funeral
with empty pockets
and an emptier stomach
the venture undertook by the the swalloing of pride
every time
compromise finesses
his naive heart
and sun burnt skin
as the moon comes out
to steal our decisiveness.