Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2019
hobos blow their noses while boxcars roll on slowly
an image of a hard time past.  gathered crops for
harvest.
And in earnest I have collected roses
smiled like dead heads left baking in the sun.
And in the dead of night in bed clutching my gun.
i find sleep fitfully in small doses.
Written by
Kane Smith  31/M/MS
(31/M/MS)   
  426
       Mack, Khoisan, Columbusphere, lX0st, Dennis Willis and 1 other
Please log in to view and add comments on poems