Black polythene bags disgorging detritus
An urban comet trail along the path
Limned faintly in morning frost, cars passing, oblivious.
There, below an incongruous vermillion balaclava,
...
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Tragic. A merciless, graphic description and outcome, the poem takes no prisoners and leaves its reader reeling with the echos of red veinous signatures, those marks of destruction and waste. Great write.
You get what most people forget, when looking at someone with an addiction; that underneath there remains a child.
An absolutely impeccable and perfect portrayal of lost souls sat as vagrants. My father was one of those egg yolk eye men (a few years ago) in London and as you so compassionately put out, he was indeed the deflated party balloon lost after marriage and some misdeeds He was far less than perfect but to discover he wasn't dead was just a wonderful moment.thank you for caring for lifes under dog, who at the end of the day remains a little child lost..
Fine gritty imagery of a life that endulently has prematurely passed. Not judgemental, just factual representation of a breif encounter, told with the clarity of a war poet.
wow..this is a moving and powerful piece....spectacular imagery. A fabulous write. -SG
A very moving poem. sadness with great description. Thank you