crud bums
in olden times crud bums
slept off drunks in filth
were everywhere you looked
rail yards, park benches
doorways, alleys, sidewalks
we figured they were worthless
not really human per se
crud bums with no purpose
just flouncing about
getting drunk, smelling bad
eyes unfocused faces unshaven
named Willie or Boots or Clem
some mothers’ sons
come to naught
back then drugs were expensive
so they hit Night Train instead
slept out in the cold
unknown what philosophy was followed
abandoned and forgotten men
asking money for soup, yeah soup
on skid row in springtime
the ghetto for crud bums
everyday on my way train to college
winos and those unfortunate
otherwise
pretending hunger not thirst
What kind of turmoil behind these
eyes
rimmed in red hid from my realities
tannins oozing from their pores
threadbare histories of dust coat
colors
inside the swirling churn of
bummery
all the self-evident truth I couldn’t
see
seasoned rapidly in wayward icy
wind
subconscious or fully awake in mind
yet I didn’t realize I could also
be
one susceptible to human extremity
the vagaries lodged within us all
young, untried but susceptible to
fall
as time’s fixtures dissolve in
specks
in four alarm fires, explosions,
train wrecks
Snow rain and adversity swirl down
In wracking pain
physical emotional spiritual existential
lice and vermin
dreams of serpents, rats, and bats
only a priest’s kind word or
sympathetic cop
a social worker full of human
empathy
ever provide balm things happening
a dime at a time
in minute by minute pursuit of fate
and faith
a rapture of nothingness
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