a human smell

it’s a human smell
basted in sweat, alcohol, tobacco
time has leathered him
shrunken into the refuge of himself
he has nowhere to go
so he lies himself into a wonder

where do you go when the beds aren’t there?
harder to freeze in this florida heat
but hydration is hard rough on the street
your friends say you are sweet
but most people don’t see through the dirt
and you aren’t so numb it doesn’t hurt

care is bedraggled greenback
maybe a pitying smile
time buckled long ago
and this story was twisted
into a gordian knot
but it’s what you’ve got
not a lot; but your lot
a backpack, a bedroll
and the clothes you stand up in
get enough change for the bus and move

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a heavy call

you are slow and solid with me
rusted machinery
intractable
it wears on me
so i ask for help
and we back down
and i won’t help
because he doesn’t deserve it
if he won’t exchange for it
just wants it free
doesn’t want to talk to me
because i am saying no
some days you have to tell people
things they don’t want to hear

pan-determined players

some people get angry over nothing
things they know little about
and they shout
and they are rude
unable to see past false data

much later
we are at a ceremony
whe a great little kid
is given is name
according to our traditions

there is no balance
between light and dark
our light is much greater
we understand the hater
in this game we are pan-determined players

early morning supermarket

old couple stood by the chewing gum
he reads the warning note to her
people who are sensitive to sugar substitutes
may experience laxative effects
oh good, she says
and they crack up laughing

these are thoughts of a certain age
fresh breath and easy time in the toilet
they are having fun

the guy on the checkout isn’t
he’s all arthritic
turtling through his day
kinda grumpy
but making a buck
the packager made-up
is making an effort
to smile

i live and write this

i am a shadow pinned under a hat
white girl in pink says
“man, he’s all in black”
black dude shrugs
i’m walking for the bus
i just collected the snail mail
from the old house
toothless flatmate smiling
the bus rolls in
and im beckoned on
a bag of mail, lunchbox, electronic devices
i live and write this

waiting late

sat amongst the bull ants
in front of the post office
writing
waiting for a ride
i am not on my own time
just a slow bummer
arrival in tardiness
i can walk faster
time on my wrist
and be where i need to be
waiting is a line strung to possible
sometimes arrival seems improbable

an ordinary morning

where did you bike from?
it took a long time to arrive
from the eighties
is Lionel Richie your hero?
or is this an MJ vibe?

we are crossing the street
white man flashing
black man biking
it’s a time warp
and we were telling stories again

there are compressed biographies in a glance
history in an outfit
time travel in a style
is there such a thing as an ordinary morning?