Not now, not ever

There was a time in my life when I used walk late at night, recklessly, through Brixton. I contemplated how thin the line between safe and warm and homelessness is. Where do the disappeared actually go?


Sodium yellow faded night

in trash can alley

where all the dreams go to die

the Neon signs buzz wasps


Rats scurry into their KFC homes

for that last bite of chicken

the deep ammoniacal doorways

still wet, pungent and steaming


Tin foils and methadone

bottles lined up on a wall

if one should accidentally fall

what would Odin do?


Strung out for Yggdrasil

a strange fruit pendant

where all the Stigmata

still bleed in his palms


He has no more

alms to give

his bowl now

stamped VOID and empty


From out all the alphabet soup

can find not now a word

though he can see plenty

and hear all, those whispers


On the sidewalk of shame

he sees the resting place

a white chalk line

shaped like a man

… … his totality


The resplendent banners

fluttering triumphant in the breeze

saying; “Do Not Cross”

are bathed in the flashing blues

… … of his final siren song


they were too late

John Doe was DOA

clutching at straws to the very end

there a single celluloid lay, crinkled

… … beside him


No one noticed as the city wind

carried it silent away as

the first teardrop rain

lands sidewalk slowly

… … the night it sobs just a little


The pitter-patter of tiny feet

with chamois softness

start to work on him

and before the commuters

…  … he will be gone


His Etch-a-Sketch life

all iron filings

has drawn its last

and no photo-fit

… … will ever capture him again


Not now, not ever.