upon questioning, we found his anger;
it was directed inward, difficult to see;
he simply turned around, blasted me.

his vehemence was not short-lived, as i
remember his description of his pain;

it was tears in the making, a Widow's Mite
of love for fellow-man was all he had.
spent it wisely, awaiting the rainbow.

he looked in all the dark places, first;
then found lighted streets, gutters.
as he lay in his gutter of choice,

a bang in the head, Starbucks cappacino cup,
emptyied of change, was his talisman
of fellow mans' love for him.

i was watching a circle feeding itself.

03/28/2011

Posted on 03/28/2011
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan