THE RAGGED MAN

The ragged man shuffles
down the slow alley,
through tatters of darkness,
a world frayed around the edges

clutching sanity remnants,
clothed in a worn suit of decadance,
his grizzled brow furrowed,
wild of eye, twitching

hiding in plain view
makes him invisible,
slipping into city cracks,
the litter of human debris

talking to himself,
listening to the voices within,
the din of silence is too loud and
colours have faded to gray obscurity

the blind ghosts of society
move to avoid him without notice,
they live on another level, as the
ragged man searches for vagrant sanctuary

ran the race before it begun,
too far in , too far out, flew too close to the sun,
there is no lasting shelter in this storm,
lord of the street, home is this life.

October 23, 1991