The indigent trail of pup tents

Like a pox on the face of infrastructure,

Plastics, acrylic, steel and stone,

Bag ladies & Panhandled husbands

Outside they call it home,


Down alley and the darkened

Beat all walk

Yellow brick roads, skid rows,

Littered with points…


Tossing Bones, reading runes,

It screams nothing good

Becomes

This / Husk of the blinked

The zombie-fied existence

Unliving / the homeless

Dead,

         Still, the heart is where

Loss finds shelter

We are belongings with heavy longing

Fallen

Down the rabbit hole

Down alley and the darkened beat

We’re caught

Wide surprised eyes in headlights,

In the riptides of the streets

So often open

With the heat of its nights

They **** just to smoke...

black crystal joints

W T F

A Graveyard of points.