Being down and out, clean out of everything that counts
Is not an easy lute to play. I joined the nomad fraternity here
When I lost my home,wife,two kids,my job.Here's an entry
From my mental log book, one of them. I used to lie
At the edge of the city park held together with string in the
Ever-present stench of old urine. Like an apparition fro nowhere
Floating the early morning mist. There were a few of us
Shivering the grass like heaps of garbage awaiting collection.
Strange men and women we were, without eyes,without faces
Lusting another language,other places, in imagined happiness,
Clean water,warmer climes. From this degraded human decline
I would watch the big jets stretch the sky to other worlds
And dreamt of a passport to some other heaven where the angels
Of mercy are not hushed, and summers infinite, where wealth,food,joy
Were all unlimited,ever-dreaming California and a tomorrow
Speaking warm sunshine to atone for wet grass and stone
Cold darkness bloomimg stars that winked like ship's lifeboats
Searching survivors....
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