Next to a Panhandler
Who sells you with, " all of this...
will be yours one day"

only The Three feet of air above you
Counsels you on your peice of cake

Trade A cot and A hot, or exchange work
       that will fry your eyes on a sidewalk,

and fake it better
Than your spare change of heart,

        yearns better than for you
        Not slipping up, bubble clairvoyant

The staked cairn
       My chin propped up on
       to cry to sleep in the cracks opening

How fun it'll be one day,
rolls up in dark
canvas sleep & dream where I'm winning.