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smoke fills the autumn night
and my nostrils
a cobweb thread
lands on my face
my hand travels slowly up
i beg a bit in the afternoons
and reciprocate
their lack of sympathy
the nights are mine
until
weeks before Xmas
they set up
those dead color lights
these people have no mercy
wh
2006-10-20
A begger relates matter of factly the trials of trying to survive in an uncaring world.
That was great! I get increasingly irritated with poets
who turn their backs to every thing except "beauty" and "love", as if they don't have windows in their homes. There come your poem which knows that this distinction is arbitrary. Beauty coulld be found in the midst of every situation, and real life can't be ignored for poetry to be real!
just kidding...I do like it...especially these lines:
i beg a bit in the afternoons
and reciprocate
their lack of sympathy