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Homeless

Cold rain pounds upon the street
Vagrant emotions huddle in storefront doorways
Spent desire floats down the curbside stream
and disappears into the sewer grate
The gray mists of a stagnant dawn
blend aimlessly into the tear stained concrete

I sold my trench coat for cigarettes
traded my shoes for coffee
Black ink stains my toes
from the newspaper stuffed in my socks
I haven’t washed in days and misery covers my body
like the dirt and grime of the street
The empty alley smells like a dead body
I take a deep breath
and fill my lungs with heartache
I wear lonely like a sweater

My pockets are empty
except for one torn and tattered piece of paper
An old love poem that I wrote
The one where I declared
that you were my home

Norman Cristofoli
labouroflovemagazine.com