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Ruins




I am the man asleep on the stoops of others,
never to return to the warm places inside.

 Crooked in the morning, thirsty,

 the river freezes in winter. This is the mortgage
of my homelessness. No leisure in this.

 No romance in nowhere.
No shame in the hump of belongings on my back.

 Man seen and not seen
Volcano of a world erupted.



from the Shape of Caught Water
Red Mountain Press 2013
www.redmountainpress.us

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