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12/7/2006 12:08:56 AM
---- Updated 2/26/2009 6:18:36 AM
Sounds of a Whistle
Escape is the shell of dreams
while vultures rule the skies
and sharks swim nigh
near the bank, on the corner,
in the parking lots and parks
that litter and glitter the darks
down on Payback Street.
The bum thats sleeping there
who drinks canned heat
has dirty hair and breathes thin air
was once a priest who saved me
from despair; filling balloons of clowns
with truths of life and flair
Now he burps a ragged rhyme,
asks me for a dime
and wonders when his ship comes in
and if it sails on time.
(c) 12/2006 by Larry W Johnson/Larz Boah
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