There is a sleeping man
In his borrowed clothes
Holding on so tight
To a wilted rose
Face of old leather
Mapped with many roads
Dark and circled eyes
Scars of lost abodes
Life is a talking head
Every day the same
Society of survival
Panhandle is his game
There is a young lady
Occasionally with a smile
They have a little chat
Brevity is her style
She brings a single flower
He brightens like a star
Then dies as she departs
Perhaps a daughter's scar
I know this fallen person
I put money in his hand
I rarely say a word
There is a sleeping man
Author Bio:
I was raised in San Francisco and influenced during the cultural movement of the 1960s and 70s. My interest in psychology developed out of a curiosity to understand the colorful street people of that era. So, I became a psychotherapist at the masters level for over 30 years. My themes often spring from my work with people. The poem Hotel of Fragments is from my counseling work inside the prison.
In his borrowed clothes
Holding on so tight
To a wilted rose
Face of old leather
Mapped with many roads
Dark and circled eyes
Scars of lost abodes
Life is a talking head
Every day the same
Society of survival
Panhandle is his game
There is a young lady
Occasionally with a smile
They have a little chat
Brevity is her style
She brings a single flower
He brightens like a star
Then dies as she departs
Perhaps a daughter's scar
I know this fallen person
I put money in his hand
I rarely say a word
There is a sleeping man
Author Bio:
I was raised in San Francisco and influenced during the cultural movement of the 1960s and 70s. My interest in psychology developed out of a curiosity to understand the colorful street people of that era. So, I became a psychotherapist at the masters level for over 30 years. My themes often spring from my work with people. The poem Hotel of Fragments is from my counseling work inside the prison.
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