We Wretched, Blind & Poor.

The hiss and pop
of sycophantic frequencies,
the new-speak glides
through unseen
wave lengths
on the air,
painting,
with tongue-stroke,
this current
delusion,
as we pass each other
alive and vibrating
in the night...
Our dark scene,
here on the city streets,
as club
upon club
belch their offerings
of culture
onto the pavements,
which penetrate,
only in part,
that semi-permeable membrane
within each one's
desired perception of
self,
allowing in only what
aligns with his or her
own cerebral paradigm.

...the heart rhythms communicating
from soul to soul,
as we move to and fro
amidst each other,
like shuttlecocks,
producing weave for life's loom
in time's tapestry,
the brighter colors - our young,
the threadbare - our old.
...but all,
tightly held together unbeknownst,
in fabric strength -
as the humanity cloth.

...and worn, by one,
we know not,
groping in darkness -
a destitute beggar,
finding his way,
with formaldehyde deadened finger tips,
along icy cement
stanchions,
the underbelly
of world's bridge,
in a cold, lonely night
a vision that is reality,
Sterno blind
and crave driven,
seeking that next
hit.

END