Silent Night

Old Jones,
Shakes asleep.
Sweats from the drink.
The bones rattle to make heat.
Pressure from the streets
Feed the breed.
New hate.
Old hope.
No home.
Forgotten.
Dreams alone.
So cold…

©Carlson, 2015

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Letter ~ by Ol’ Bastard Rain

Ham on Rye,
Trash can hands.
Heat from the subway grates warms my bed.
Newspaper sheets, card board pillows, fine apple wine soaks my guts.
I lost to America.
Didn’t realize it was a game until The Uncle took it away.
Home,
Rest,
Pavement,
Curb.
But I don’t have to pay taxes.
Nor get raped by a rancid Pope.
Ham on Rye, Hope and I.

Honorably,

Ol’ Bastard Rain

© Carlson 2013