Shut and shunned away from you,
Dirty dark,
I wrap a cocoon hiding view,
With rags he found tossed away
Dirty dark
And still hidden from the day,
In the piles of trashy silk,
Dark dirty
Smudging skin as white as milk,
But much marred and badly stained
Wrapped in rags
Transforming in years of pain,
Yet never to emerge free;
Butterfly:
Never will he ever be.


The rain
turns Ice turns Hard
In cold like Gloom’s hardness
Then watching death moving slowly
gathers

The Rags
Are blowing free
Gathering in bushes
Forming piles on the windless side
Building.

The dirt
Caught on the wind
Slow coats without regards
The wet is mud by the touching
Then freeze

Ice dirt
Shambles away
Rags in moving shatters
Glistening shards are left behind
Rags move

Incased
An old rag hangs
Held by ice on a bush
Drops off in the warming sunlight
In mud

The sleet on the street,
Sliding all the day away,
The roof is colder.

The humble huddle in fear,
On corners,
Icing death lingers too near,
Without warmth without hope too
On steam grates
Steel and steam, nothing to do;
they leer and peer in disgust
at steam grates
filled with hopeful dreams gone bust
not a sliver of silver
steam corners
last refuge from cold shivers
last stop before cold hard ground
no mourner
will give a last wailing sound.

The roof overlooks,
On to steam from dirty rags
Seeing events pass.

Bold and Drunk,
A car careens carelessly
Into steams
Of lost dreams,
Humble watching hopelessly
Tires so shrill
Metal kill
Crushing in passing through them
The blood pools
And the fools
Hurry to be gone again,
Drunk and bold
Gone, mother and child, now cold.

Overlooking and seeing,
Rags watching
Sees the scum as they’re fleeing.

The ragman follows.


Close the window, shut the blind,
Stay unseen,
Pray that it’s not you they find,
And take you out from hiding,
Stay unseen,
When the bad boys are riding.

Never been.

Rags get caught in passing winds,
Flap along
Drifting to where ever sends,
Cloths caravaning behind
Drifts along
Motions without any mind.

A bush in budding,
Bends with the wind caught spinning,
Rags flags are banners,

Spread about they’re here and there
Just a few,
Hardly of notice or care,
As they follow the passing
Just a few
But each stop they are trashing,
Stomping the budding flower,
Just a few,
Brutal cruel is their power.

There by the tire huddles
Just some rags
Into brake fluid puddles,
And drips as they ride away
Blowing rags,
Back to the bushes they stay.

Banners blow in fast passing
Rolling rags
Gathers around the crashing.

A bush is burning,
Sends the wind with smoke spinning,
They just couldn’t stop.

Down the stairway in the dark,
Bad odor,
Walls of grime wet urine mark,
Pausing in pools of vomit
Foul odor,
Rags piles up in and on it
Rats scatter behind on sounds
Foul talking,
Broken bottles fill the ground,
Cigarette burning by youth
Falling foul,
Courage comes at ninety proof;
Wasting their minds lines fine dust
Filling foul,
Loosing fear at cost of trust;
Stolen from friends of the past
Living foul,
For a feeling that won’t last.

Rags listen

Sirens brings fear back again;
So it goes,
And pain too comes back again.
A rag wraps his leg tightly;
So he goes
Stumbling, not running quickly,
Vomit on rags becomes a gag;
He’s choking
A bump and then he will sag.

Ragman drags

Suburban private school grounds.
Football game
Without the wild cheering sounds
Cavorting in endless pain,
Baseball game
Tied with rags onto the chain
In freezing cold December
Livings game
Needs for us to remember
Lessons beyond merely school Dying’s game
Mind waste in a pool of drool

Rags pile up,
First in one corner alley,
Then elsewhere.

He remembered steel and blood,
Yesterday;
Drawing faces in the mud
As he etched it in his mind,
And today,
Watching closer to the find.

Tires screech
Children reach,
Scholars teach,
Echoes in the silent steam,
No being,
Unseeing,
Transferring,
Memories in to his dream.
The old rags,
No longer worn by the dead,
Binds his wrist.

Rags pile up,
Beside the suburban road,
Then elsewhere.