Bum Stories

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a weathered man greets me on a corner
his face, aged ten times and his smile barely cracks
but I know it’s there as his eyes always confirm
for a million moments in passing
he shares with me his story
I read every line trenched in his scaling cheek
and coarse wore out locks
paint for me a daily tragedy
and all I do is keep walking

What’s Staring Back?

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It’s black inside the ocean
especially in the shadows where sharks pretend to sleep
my eyes barely banish their stares
until what lurks finally confronts me
but…
why have they not teethed
on this body that drifts alone
lifeless and willing
could they sense poisoned blood
from just a taste
am I worse


French Island

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surrounded in the francais
schoolboys like I, chase through stone corridors in jest
pass tank topped bread makers and
rum runners filling dark sacks
who was I to speak to the going-ons of this foreign land
take me instead to the countryside
in an hour less a half
share with me tales
let me sip wine
and pretend that I am a man





I’ll Just Be Here…

Tell me to turn and walk away
I’ll just try harder than I did today
Tell me to move on and completely forget
I’ll just think about you more every chance I get
Tell me you hate me and you no longer care
I’ll just know you’re still hurting and need more time to repair
Tell me I’ve banished from your broken little heart
I’ll just be here with the pieces until the day, we’re no longer apart