poem 89

and your fingers bit and bleed
and all your words fall insane
and the hole in your shoes
and the tear in your coat
The homeless man on a train
there no station with his name

But maybe death not know to you
I know that crazy, but briefly, that's what I hoped

I am so…..tired i can barely think,

but I know you, darlin, have already guessed that

and zimmerman sang to my hart
and  i saw the shadow called Dylan
and break each word on his throat
and its sound, a shattered hart
The singer on the stage

whose fingers no longer play

But maybe death not know to you
I know that crazy, but briefly, that's what I hoped

i am so….hungry it hurts,  

but i know you, darlin, have already guessed that

and the poet who never speaks

and he drinks just to breath

and his home shattered glass

and he steals just to please.

The pain that's so huge

i wonder what i do, if you

But maybe death not know to you
I know that crazy, but briefly, that's what I hoped

I am so……….