Homeless Haphazard and the New Gorilla Warfare

And just watch him stagger down the street with intoxicated pride atop his crumbling climb and his junky stride. If you ask him, he will tell you that eyes don't need to focus to see what's going on. Perspective changes his face down in the gutter tragedy to a man with his ears to the tracks, listening for the coming locomotive of discourse. He hears the thumping boots of smart phone revolutionaries with idiots in tow. The clouded mind doesn't think nearly as much as it knows. Fast and ruthless like a nailgun crusifixion comes the soundbite blisters on the inside of bluetooth earpiece. Damaged hearing is the price of hearing the truth they say. Stagger on and crumble down, looking last to the lost so that your soul feels found Just watch him stagger, stagger on down and hope that he mumbles some prophecy, fortelling terrible things that sting of bourbon breathe, five dollar wise man that he is standing on the off ramp waiting for the red light dam to hold back the rush hour river so he may fish a little more. Four seasons of foul flavor has he tasted on the boulevard, thinking today is the worst to endure until tomorrow's daylight finds him again.