sometimes
just sometimes
i wish i could throw up my heart
that ******, throbbing hunk of raw flesh
and hold it in my hand
feel for any emotion
and throw it at the passing cars
and my heart would bounce off the pavement
or skid over the gravel
or splatter across someone’s windshield
or pop like firecrackers under someone’s tire
or maybe i’d throw it so hard, so far,
it’d soar into the summer heat and hang--suspended--
before plummeting towards the earth,
and smashing through someone’s roof
and plopping itself into some quintessential, two-kid, two-parent, white-fence family’s dinner
and maybe the four would devour the thing like a hog off the roast
and celebrate their civility
or maybe the parents would scream in horror and shoot the thing
or maybe the kids would find it first in their backyard and burn it to win the science fair
or maybe the dog would find the remains and wet its muzzle in the thing’s blood
or maybe the snooping neighbors would find it first and feed it to the chickens
or maybe—
or maybe it wouldn’t really matter what happened to my heart.
i never felt anything with it anyway.

Alone.

So very alone.

The echoes in my mind

Reflect back, and I hear.

"Alone.

"So very alone."

-

I can't very well understand.

Why it is or why,

I cant.

But what I know is simple, im reminded very slow

I'm alone,

So very alone.

At days end im just the same as I was

Alone.

-

Off in the distance I see,

Those who are very near to me.

And yet I do not know them, or cannot grasp

Their clothing in these hands.

I hear the voice inside my mind,

Cry to itself as it weeps inside

It says:

"Alone!

"So very alone!"

"So where to go, shall we go?!

"That we might not be alone?"

People living in cardboard boxes ...
What are they doing there,
Are they there out of choice,
Or there in despair?

Are they there through their own fault,
Or is the blame society's at large,
Should you give them some free assistance,
Or have police put them on a charge?

Unlike the good samaritan,
You choose to walk on the other side,
Quite happy to debate lofty moral issues,
Until you meet reality, stumble and collide.

Cardboard City's inhabitants,
Are surely past redemption,
Would you really make that statement,
If in there, lived your son?

Shouldn't they help themselves more?
Perhaps they've already been trying,
All I know is they are fellow human beings,
And in the winter ... they are dying.

I remember being on the red thin line
Becoming & epitomizing Destitute
Blessed it too that I found myself wanting
to break from the clenches that bound any exemption, and sought after a new means of
Achieving ultimate ecstasy in a world purged of natural euphoria and anything besides the contemptuous judgment that is almost granted and given at the onset of life in a place that taxes one from the unembellished pleasures a life should often always experience

A fire of desire lays behind the smile
Your fist prominent with lost miles
Tasteless passion that oscillate piles

A cold flame embodies the draught
Torn embers that glows and downs
Faded colours that distract and frown

A blunted clarity try and blow itself
Dismay adorned to encrust destitution
Distractions paraded in devolved arrays

I sleep in my cardboard cottage
That is my current job.
I keep it neat and clean as I can
I am not a slob.
I have my own place staked out
Everyone knows it’s mine.
It keeps the wind off as I doze.
It isn’t perfect but it’s fine.
Part of my job these days is easy;
I set out a cup and sing.
It doesn’t make me a million
But it is something.

When the weather warrants it
I sleep in the park
In the bright warm sunshine;
Stay awake in the dark.
It seems the citizens and cops
All leave me alone
Even though they still talk to me
With condescending tone,
Tsking at my laziness in general
Give the charity buck
Or maybe a quarter when they see
Since I’m down on my luck.

There’s this guy Hay Soose
But he spells it Jesus.
He could spell it that way
If he so pleases
But that don’t keep him dry
Whenever it rains
And it doesn’t stave most of the
Deep arthritic pains
From sleeping under cardboard
As his only roof.
Watch him shiver in winter if
You want some proof.

People have gotten to know me
As I’m here every day.
Some of the even come by with
Nice words to say.
And, I am used to the noise here;
The horns and the noise
Of the workaday world of these folks;
These grownup girls and boys.
Some tell me to go find some work,
I don’t get mad and shout.
I understand they have some hostilities
They have yet to work out.

Some of my neighbors here in cardboard
Dwell here because they
Can’t seem to work life out for themselves
In any other way.
People fire them from any employment
Because they act weird.
Some refuse to bathe or maybe it is
They refuse to cut their beard.
As for me I have had enough of it all;
The rattle and the hum.
I know society has a lot to offer but
I already had some.