Market Street Poem by David Saltaire

Thorn pierces deeply
throws love on a crown
puncturing golden pleasures
reneging on promises.
Down to the quick
it stabs casually and with
instinct purpose only
drawing out pain
until you drip with honey
and the ants swarm on sidewalks
to lick at it and feed fatally
at the mouth of the night,
singing diseased and naked
over the pit of fire
grinding out love notes like
the ashcan viper
that sails with us
on this forbidden sea
filled with bones
and tapeworms
breaking surfaces,
with lies and slurping
and frantic sucking, sighs
distant suffering.
I’m kneeling here
like an old stone
in a forgotten mossy garden
that fades like wind blown fog…

Waking in a sour pool of urine
on a gritty sidewalk at five AM.
reaching for my last cigarette
in the greasy lining
of my spacious raincoat
colored in variable
lurid glowworms
under the crown
made of neon fire
and golden thorns
immaculate in
the dirty alley of tired waste
and lost dreams

Stumbling up
finding my sign
rough-torn cardboard
uneven sharpie marking
held up to the world of
glittering, silent cars
“Please Help”.