Park Talk #2: Some Bum in the Alleyway

"Hey. They don't make 'em  

like they used to. Women. Chopped  

a block and chiseled down, eyes glist-  

ending in hole. Painted firm  

figure and mother waist shades  

black and blue, onyx and jay

or other interior hues. They made  

of plastic now, better yet SIM  

cards loaded selfies stronging  

superposed importance, imps  

more like it.    

.    

They sprachs me a fool, toothless  

gum and tongue grabber for taste. My gum's  

intact. They knows no bounds of trash  

left flamed on cold Elgin's night. I've  

serenade these pavements here after  

bristles touched brain from 40  

Olde English. They know no  

roads bare poured smoke from burn  

of human bodies, still. Those were  

my daughters. Skulls open from hollows  

drive-by delivered. I torched their  

vigil. Tears don't fall when the well's  

dried up. You see. I sculpted them from me  

and my missing, whorish rib. They were blue  

faced angels dancing pixies in eyes  

of lamposts. All got left is the 40 and a  

lotto ticket."    

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Comment 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/yxet00/long_days/iwojtl4?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3    

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Comment 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/yxb1vb/till_the_setting_sun/iwo79ef?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3