11.15.06

The creak and moan from
stereo seems to swallow
oxygen before

it can reach the lips,
enter lung's pump, of strangers
lurching the sidewalk.

And those that I drive
past are stretched tight skeletons,
homeless and crippled—

youth drained
from blood stream with
holy, swift precision, and
sad melodies (humming ghosts) from
my car.

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