PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She's down the street she'll spiral in homing pigeon girl

For the methmonster just rolled in her driveway

Blue Trans-Am cost three pounds Humboldt-standard-currency

Takes all he gives his kiss his needle his flights

Takes him to ward off the morning eyes closed



Down the street eyes closed against a harmfull sun

She begs or sells herself away to the train tracks

Pass a bottle between old-timers stumble river

And wet rags and hands pushing open hazy parting

Sunlit and unconscious and moaning until night

And the purr of cars loving to be alone



The street and her fight for control blindly following

Candlyland of fists guns beer blackness with silent

Film rage of a hundred of her mothers before

All cast off into fear and shame

Fertile souls quenched by strange times and nightfall



Living with dying people travel and counters for medicine

Forgetting to remember who don't come 'round no more

Finding solace under dusty trees bottle rolls into the street

The sirens are all left for worthy crime again

Sun sets shuffle down and off to sleep all



Ballet for ragged men in the dawn cross over the berm

Mota and tar heroin begged off the suits

Busted heads wail through sparkling clean alleys

Keep away from our filth padlocks chime

To fourteen year old wise men with new mouths

To feed tired to the bone crying



Ballet for ragged men fear and lovemaking at once

The stares and frustration in the wake spiral in

Homing pigeon girl in all her decrepit glory smiles

Just this once six year old Amy going to the dentist

Hands her begonias and lilies tightly clenched

Innocent special smiling