to me i write a poem
skipping the puddles in my canvas shoes
red they are street named Chucks
to me this life i’ve witnessed most of all
their pain  our pain my pain
drown we do in hopes that rot like afflicted blossoms
there are the rainbows in the gutters of the street
blessings aplenty there are in the depth of her misery
and butterflies kiss a starving stomach’s lining
to me i write a poem
a ribbon around my thumb
a raw thought in a muted mind
that wanders through a path
underneath the alley where the windows are boarded up
and we name it progress
the corner where i turn
there are no vision quests
Braves are gone perhaps just a celluloid memory
today i write a poem
tomorrow i won’t know
existence here is very subtle
determine in the concrete night
that for the now i stand in moonlight
and midwife the sound of my words