bumming around
the country...
sleeping under bridges,
or just under...
the night sky...
working when i
could find it.
selling blood
when i couldnt!
gather a little change,
stop in a diner
for a cup of
black coffee...
writing poems
on napkins
with pencils...
leaving them for
my tip...
unsigned, forgotten
prayers, a forgotten
man, a forgotten
time!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem