outside my front
door. they sleep
standing upright &
tenuously, but i rarely
hear them snore. we share
nightmares & newports, sometimes.
we share the same disillusion in our
eyes. some lead horror story existences. some
lean like antennas in the wind. some call me
"mr." "amigo," "my friend", but i really don't think so, papi.
and it's not
their status as junkies...
that's simply a habit & we've
all got those. i just don't trust them
because they're People. People with needles,
Needle People, with the curse of bad posture &
a reed-thin belief that things will be better
By Bluemoaner used with the permission of the poet.
All rights reserved