The cardboard that became my mattress
my last but one address.
The names with which I have been tagged,the once fine clothes all turned to rags,the sagging cheeks,the days that wandered lonely into weeks and years became my duvet,there but for the grace of god knows who, is who I was and am.

Any woman,man should understand that landing on one's feet is not magic ,just a neat trick and how quick it is to fall,how quickly life can stall and leave you stranded.

Even handedness is not a trait that you will find, struggling on these unlined pages,raging against the might have been,if only you had seen it coming and running through scenarios where only poverty and sadness goes,there is always the hiding in the dark,on the benches in the park you're not alone,so many fallen through the cracks of broken homes and getting shot into slugs of alcohol or drugs like demerol.

The crowding out of being in and being in is what you need,the only hope that feeds the hope eternal is for the cycle to spin and turn,for the wishing star to burn across the moonlit sky and crying to your god above what little love there's left is,
well you know,
the last of any place you go when you're put on show for all to see, and all to see and comment on your misery.
This life blows hot and cold,you're burning rubber then you're old and nothing ever turns to gold unless you really want it too.
I leave you on this satellite to orbit through another night and hope that one day I just might
begin to understand.