Left for Dread
Stabbed
in the head
and left for dead
the local paper said
that’s what I read
a man without a bed
and on he bled
and I am led to fear
the roads I tread.
Kicked
in the gut
punch-drunk cut
no reason nothing but
just lowlife in a rut
few plans and no redoubt
and worse than unkind sluts
when doors slam shut
tears are stations
I now rebut.
Carved
in the street
and left for meat
where cold rats meet
with no retreat,
a man you’d never greet
just stains on concrete now
like the miseries you cheat
like the mysteries you defeat
yet fear remains,
beneath my feet.
He, was, sliced
through his head
cleft and dead
Redtop newsprint screwed and fled -
DID YOU HEAR? what I just read?
This man without a bed,
on and on he bled
and I am led
to dread these roads
we tread.