Tuesday, September 13, 2011


he enters the train.
he is regal, his head high.
from his neck and chin

springs forth a mighty
beard of matted coils, dense and
black. he has no shoes.

broken bags cover
his broken feet, but he walks
with Grace and Purpose.

he parts the crowd, a
sea of judgement and contempt, and
stands beside the door.


blue roses said...

you write about the characters of the street so beautifully.

i find i become fascinated with various visual archetypes, lately, it has been animal road kill.

17 beats. said...

i'm with you on the animal road kill. so grotesque and beautiful, like edouard manet (his still-lifes involving fish and meat are breath-taking) and francis bacon (obviously).

but tragic, of course. thinking about their last moments -- so alone and scary. i look at my little familiars and tear up at that the thought.

17 beats. said...

i meant to say 'scared' not 'scary'. doh.