I used to be a heavyweight boxer.
I used to be a professional wrestler.
I used to be a certified asbestos supervisor.
I used to help the metro build light rail tracks.
I used to have powerful stars.
I used to have sooo much stuff!

I used to listen to Barry Manilow,
old school rap,
and Hiroshima.

It's all stolen, denied, and lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost
like marbles that have rolled away--
those silly rolling stones.

I make my living,
in the bitter cold
of society's heart,
off the kindness of other(s).

Ask and ye shall receive
coins, dollar bills, donations,
socks, gloves, moisturizer,
car rides, green cards, glasses,
GPS navigation tools, iPods, Wiis,
hot Korean food in English castles.

I have an illness
in my body,
in my heart,
in my mind
no medicine in the world can cure.
No cigarettes, drinks, or heroin
can alleviate
the meridians and neuropathways of the poor.

Birds have their nests,
but angels in disguise
have no place to lay their
heavy head, for hospitality
is just as lost
as me.

I'm as sleepless
and bed-less
as Jesus.