Thursday, July 18, 2013

4528. I WAS THE ONE THAT WASN'T

I WAS THE ONE THAT WASN’T
 It never came as a surprise to me that leftover people
gravitated to each other – thus the clutches of bums
and cripples the indigent and unwanted the criminal
and the piker all hanging together at streets’ ends
and grassy parks along roadways or under abutements –
for a singular language of sameness and a shared sense
of love and lost-love and bad opportunity and missed
fortunes all come to one piece as around each other they
 shelter and harbor whatever left there may be and it’s
 heard in their words and seen in their eyes how they
each clamor to share in the solace which each somehow
affords the other – the man with the one bad eye and
disfigured face meets the one with the withered hand
(and together they enter grace).

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