Sitting in a dark corner of a street
Hiding his lust-ridden face behind the shade
Begging for a shabby flower-adorned laurel
Trying to stuff his hollow mind
Dreaming his unflinching desire in a musty motel room
Can he move to get out of the dark?
Can he walk to the bright?
Can he run to escape the not-so-glorious past?
Can he work to buy his own tiny space?
Can he live to fulfill his well-worn dream?
His arms holding the filthy bowl of lewd craving
Are sagging feebly
Pondering his life in no-man’s lot
He’s not sure how vast his void is!