Len was a guy who’d get you anything,
komodo dragon eggs to diamond ring.
He’d get you tee times at the best golf course
or any drug you’d need from weed to horse.
He’d get you items home-made or imported.
He’d get you justice if you’d been extorted.
But folks say that his contacts got too weird.
And one day Len just up and disappeared.
Scraps on roof.
Vanishing pockets.
Has bin.
Shoot penguin out window.
Wood shoes need oil.
Baby’s circumference shrinking.
Head of rat.
Halt who stays there.
Muttering rice.
Lick the foursome.
Finite geography.
Passing in.
Sleeps above it.
Phase out handy.
Glass and free chain.
Once removed.
The playground sky brushed by in its amusement
as the birds united in swift flight.
The hard ground played its games of soft confusion
as hours, like flowers, grew petals of the night.
I’m ice cold and my hands are blue.
I feel the wind right through my shoe.
I’ve got no roof or home to shelter me,
the human discard of society.
I’m a homeless man in a heartless time.
I’ve got no money. That’s my crime.
Once I had friends and dreams and plans.
But that world slipped through my hands.
On dark streets, disregards the ruling mood.
One begs for change in hopes of getting food.
Eventually the elders turn to drink.
A man can’t mourn his life if he can’t think.
I just can’t get a grip with fingers bent.
I live in shame but that’s irrelevant.
I eat from trash and pack a cardboard bed.
I fight for life while wishing I were dead.
I’m a homeless man in a heedless time.
To treat a soul this way must be a crime.
Our faction has successfully
the enemy exposed.
It is no surprise, therefore,
so many’ve been disposed.
The body count implants the land
with sullen hidden graves.
The lord abstains, the lord disdains,
abandons earth to braves.
We wake up, then, in dance
and song, in deep security.
The goons pretend to play along.
We’ve pledged serenity.
No bombs go off. No lives are lost.
The band has fed it back.
The drone of history goes on.
The future fades to black.