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    Unknown address no zip code
    On the streets I make my home
    My spirit’s high I must move on
    The police comes, Am not a bum
    Homeless, tattered body that I carry
    My bones, as he said; weak and weary
    Boxes packed full of homeless people
    To keep warm we sip cheap ripple.
    We are, of all colors and all races
    Under bridges we find our spaces
    We often share what’s there to eat
    In garbage cans we find our meat
    Empty deaths no time for sorrow
    Life is hell, now and tomorrow
    This is living I do deplore
    This is it, nothing more

    Adolfo Gomez-Herrera
    AKA Martin T Jonquille

  • #2
    Life does not seem fair. And to think it could have been me. Sounds so painful, woe! Good reminder to count my blessings as well as to share them.Thanks!


    • #3

      Life is not those days that have passed, but those that are remembered.


      • #4
        I was amazed at the poem, such a great writer, a good poetry.
        vinyl fence salt lake