Next to a Panhandler
Who sells you with, " all of this...
will be yours one day"
only The Three feet of air above you
Counsels you on your peice of cake
Trade A cot and A hot, or exchange work
      that will fry your eyes on a sidewalk,
and fake it better
Than your spare change of heart,
        yearns better than for you
        Not slipping up, bubble clairvoyant
The staked cairn
      My chin propped up on
      to cry to sleep in the cracks opening
How fun it'll be one day,
rolls up in dark
canvas sleep & dream where I'm winning.