A collaboration over too much coffee. |
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He stood shivering
wet skin and dry eyes;
He jingled
jangled tunes
breaking through
torn pocket
wounds.
He lived rough
and pretended to be
oh so tough;
meagre possessions
in a broken cart
a blanket, cigarettes
and a burnt out heart.
Where will he
sleep tonight?
Underneath the
plastic sheet
behind the
garbage bin
fiddlin’ with
her frayed picture
he'd gambled
And
didn’t win.
Labels: poetry
Selected by Pincushion |
00:56 |
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3 Comments:
nice poem...
Like one of those Cohen / Dylan lyrics. I think the "jingle, jangle" started me crooning right into the burnt out heart. Want to go the longer lyric way?
Very nice:) As Scribe said, the words 'Jingle - Jangle' catch our fancy :)
A true honky tonk era Hobo :) The whole world loves a drifter who cries over his long lost love I guess.
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