Art

Eleven (11) Haiku – Homeless

My face is an un-
welcome mat, urging you to
wipe your eyes elsewhere.

Death masquerades as
a CAUTION tape finish line,
fooling everyone.

In this city, we
stomp across acne’d concrete,
feigning importance.

Floating face down in
the mainstream—these people don’t
even know they’re dead.

Punitive sadness
like a blowup doll orbiting
your lonely heart.

This moon looks shitfaced
as it vomits pale, chunky
light across my shoes.

Dying faster than
a trend, I wonder, Was this
real to begin with?

Goddamn… It’s so hard
hiding your feelings when your
posture screams your soul.

Asleep, drooling on
my pillow, I dreamed of Her
fingering a cloud.
Two black gloves splayed out
on the sidewalk like a crime
scene of dead hi-fives.

The N line grinds its
teeth then takes a bite out of
my mid-day dolor.