Contemplating the Drifter

I look at the long, bluish-white sky and sot,
Watching inward is apparent by the glaze.
: I see the freshness marching in the rot.

The final papers with the gun is what I got,
Desperation is the capitol in my mind-muck,
I look at the long, bluish-white sky and sot.

I can barely dream cause I sleep in the cot,
The nightmares plague me as I stride about,
: I see the freshness marching in the rot.

I steal and beg, seen wide-eyed by the tot,
All the flesh is burning by the heat from the glaze.
I look at the long, bluish-white sky and sot.

I find relief from some by the presence of pot,
Bikers crowd around to rid all away the sweet,
: I view in awe the freshness marching in the rot.

The next morning I reach for nothing that I got,
Random shades try to shield off the rain.
I look at the long, bluish-white sky and sot,
: I see the freshness marching in the rot.