He was suntanned sarcasm

Philosopher

A prophet behind squinted brow

Rags dangling off saddle bag limbs

A mass of unwanted scent pulling at one's quivering nostril hairs

A bellwether with no flock or chime

For this do not feel pity

Atop a bench

Pirouetting on a cement wall

Yelling into clear windows reflecting an image of societal failure

A pillow with dirt under chewed fingernails

A crying ventriloquism of silent intellect behind a pungent shield

For this do not feel pity

He cries with the moon in a yellow bleeding

He laughs amongst the insects that crawl at night

He howls up into nothing

A cipher of understood insanity

An imperfect defiance emptied and dried

For this do not feel pity

The coin has more than two sides

The story a biased regurgitation of the foulest vile

Perfection rests with intentional deficiency

For this do not feel pity

For this do not feel pity

For all else do  

Poet: Justin A. Saragueta

Copyright 2007