Au revoir, à mon coeur et à mon âme

Walking pathways of death as respectful as one is able,

You find an occasional numb in the midst of being overwhelmed or unknowing of what to do and how to feel.

Faces of those who might know the area as home are illumined and regarded,

Faces of those visiting are studied as well out of curiosity,

And then those who are seeking a new home in this unfamiliar land;

They are the ones who you do your best to assure they have been seen,

While the world may seemingly pass them by.

In a world on edge,

Below ground can be a place to find peace.

When walking caverns that have become hallowed halls of history,

A certain stillness is found even when actively observing your surroundings;

knowing you’ve temporarily escaped the chaos and noise of society above.

In refining one’s self, you find that you also lose pieces of your “self”;

It makes you wonder if it’ll all be worthwhile,

or if it will be just another phase or season.

Something meant for a scrapbook rather than a defining step forward as a human,

Compulsion rather than immersion.

My critical eyes have been poked many times over,

But I believe the time has come to gouge them out.

For I’d rather gain knowledge blindly and objectively,

then have the privilege of sight but also the handicap of unneeded critique.

With bones dislocated, emotions suppressed or dead, and a mind rather empty;

What good would I pose as just another spoon fed oaf?

As I prepare to leave,

I don’t have a final destination.

As the mirror reflects a face that is familiar,

I don’t immediately acknowledge it as my own.

Maybe a shadow of someone I knew,

Or someone I’d rather forget I met.

Just a sketch of someone or something,

From a place no longer existent.



Business suits & dime bags,

Roxies & Xanax sold out of a Dolce & Gabbana.

New apartments starting at $3,000+;

Next to the tent city between 7th & 16th.

In my moment of treat & luxury,

Walking to get a cup of coffee;

I watch a local rocking himself into a higher state of mind.

Cracked up,

The high isn’t coming quick enough.

On hands & knees.

Dignity isn’t even a factor unless I have my needles.

Crawling on feces both human & animal,

My loyalty is even questionable unto myself.

Some sights & smells of a poverty of health;

Makes you wonder

where a city truly can find its wealth.


Handouts and Bandages

Inspecting what doesn’t belong to us,

Waiting for our hands to be filled.

Is this really what life is about?

Is this all there is?

We the people of generation lazy,

The scum scraped off the boots of the baby boomers;

Originally intended to be those who grew up aspiring to be more.

I may as well kill myself to save myself;

Is this really where I have to go?

Is this only the American nightmare or is it worldwide???

In a world this cold,

I refuse to let my fire be quenched.

I will ask for help,

But never again will I accept any pity.

Not on my most desperate and empty day,

Not out of pride but of gratitude.

I’ve been given more than I could ask about or deserve,

My lungs functioning are proof of that in and of themselves.

I need to continue learning how survive and thrive,

Not just blindly begging to get by.

I don’t need something to fill my hand but someone to take hold of it.