(no subject)
old conversations revived and made new seem to rise and fall
with the lift of my small breasts
echoing the motion of breathing in each moment as it comes
seconds of memory hustled out of one last lonely dollar
in the twilight hour down in town square
bums lounge on concrete thrones and hold block lettered signs
of all the misfortune that claims such lives
potential tunred black as the tabacco stained thumb
and the heart is aglow with red light traffic stops