Fly, Bird

I’ve moved around too much

Five places in just under a year

And it’s hard

It’s damn hard

The organizing

The packing

The borrowing, the money

The moving

::I’m bone tired::

The unfamiliar scenes

The kooky house guests

Always coming and going

The paranoiac slumbers ‘cos home

Doesn’t feel like home when you’ve

Only been there for a week. . .

A month. . .

Six months. . .

The center of your chest hollows out

And the hollowness – hurts

It weighs in the slow movement

Of time’s heavy hands

And the streets are unforgiving

And the many strong

And the many weak

Among the streets

They move in infectious parasitic parades

They NEED to compete and win it all

Like the goddamn lottery

I was told at a young age,

A VERY young age

That if I dreamt big enough

I too could have it all

But momma never told me

About the million sad faces

Dying in the gutters

                     with nothing but their dreams

                     which have 

                                      broken

                                          beside 

                                                  them.