Wished I was a saint
Took my cane with me to work
Held on to a weathered hand
Was caught out in the rain
Left a symbol in the earth
Growth that clouded all designs
Held on to a weathered hand
Ate my heart out in the sun
Giving to little was my lonely grave
Lest beggars break in to settle my nerves
Held on to a weathered hand
There I lay saddened by time
Into my sweet tea
I felt there was an empty spoon
And you came along so soft
To help me with my sugar,
And here your golden laughter
Took a shining to my smile –
A power I was helpless to,
A Queen in a beggars hand.
And if my sorrow had a strength
It would be a sweetened song,
It would be so round it had no edge
And sugar would be my pun
For my sweet tea is clearly running low
And my spoon has turned to fun.
Acid inflections
Purge soul from desire,
Lingering intentions
Carry my night:
Left lane right lane.
I curve your heart
Around crescent moon
Shaped stools
Delicately dancing
At the feet of my wisdom;
Tooth: sweetened.
Biting into a Caesar brick
Closed around uninviting
Revelations,
A pale ghost runs around
The neighborhood tonight.
Grasp at my turnpike.
Leave an overspent
Midnight dance and
Recoil in pure madness
Like a sesame seed bagel,
Cream cheese.
If I wasn’t a sorcerer
Scrambling dimes
To make a call,
I’d hover gently around
My window,
Until brakes
Were squealing as night set.
Can my name
Become an icon
Dressed in black
Upon your wall?
Can a dollar get me beggars
Shooing shines
At half past twelve?
And like a crawling rat
A hood makes my figurines
Sound silent,
Grooving effortlessly
Into a sea of closed doors
That pacify each and every
Bond I’ve made
Through a long night:
Solitude.
I was a ghost in a strong, strong wind
Or so I had thought before life did begin.
Let me see through your hardened skin
A beggar forgets there’s lots to win.
I’m tired now, up against this wind
Blow me over, I’ll get back up again.
Float your heart upon a breeze
I cannot smell, I cannot squeeze.
Alight! Heart be nimble, dance within!
For you will feel again, I am the wind.
San Francisco was a dream,
And I was walking
Heading North.
Your curly wires,
Your sunset streets,
Your unlucky sins
And a beggar dreams.
