she lays me down gently,
her ragdoll she won't soon 
pick up anymore,
and drown me in silence
the confused, feverish journey
from which 
I don't know I'll return; 
and each day
the skies wear 
the gray cloaks of dark inquisition
into the shivering souls
cowering for mercy, for warmth
a glimpse of a heavenly light;
I wander wordless, my 
lips clenched stubborn in silence,
armored in rags, sheltered
by cardboard, pillars of bridges
the piss-covered walls, tonight's alley,
compare memories of me
to the shuffling, wild-glaring
reeking reflection in windows.
I laugh loudly inside,
tempted, the next time
to howl
in no language…
Jon Bohrn (1999)



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