Grey eyes and a dirty beard
hang down to holy sneakers
and cracked hands holding the cardboard
that asks God's blessing on those who give to the poor.
Weathered flannels and yellow teeth
don't find much to chew-
so an empty stomach nags
his worn soul.
Scabs and bruises cover two arms
filled with used veins
that can't often run in a straight line
because it makes the night warmer,
the bench softer,
and the memories a little foggier.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
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4 comments:
Wow, did you write that Anthony? that's some deep stuff! keep it coming!
i did, i wrote it after seeing a man sitting by the road holding a sign in phoenix last summer...
did you mean "holy" or "holey"??
i meant 'holy' in the sense that his shoes are set apart from society's shoes.
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