---
i'm here
invisible hand
retching in your pocket
reaching in your face
teaching all
or nothing
blue bottles buzz
round my head in circles
making me dizzy
I pick a posie of dandilions
gone to seed
I foray about
looking for the shiniest
diamonds in aluminum cans
the brass ring
must certainly be
tarnished gold
the forge bellows that is my chest
heaves in another cough
cooling my tounge
the empty wind that echos ashes
spent embers collect
in the cracks
of the
abyss
my bones which were disjointed
oh so slowly reassemble
instantly
but someone
at the factory didn't
read the
destructions
my legs are arms
my hands
feet
i lie under a cold
sky
in july
oh don't cry
when i die
no whitened seplechur my inheritance
my epitaph nonsense
a palm tree o'r my
grave
soulsurvivor
(C) 6/13/2015
Stream of consciousness work
about the homeless in Los Angeles
Maybe this kind of poem should
have no final destination
This one did. But I allowed it to flow
---
