Toss The Bones Poem by Butch Decatoria

The indigents' trail of pup tents

The plastic pox on the face of asphalts

Down alley and the darkened

Beat all walk

Yellow brick roads, skid rows,

Littered with points

Tossing Bones, reading runes,

It screams nothing good

Becomes

This / Husk of the blinked

The zombie-fied existence

Unliving / the homeless

Dead, the heart is where

Loss finds shelter...

We're belongings with heavy longing

Chasing waterfalls,

Down the rabbit hole

Down alley and the darkened beat

We're caught

Wide surprised eyes in headlights,

In the riptides of the streets

So often open

With the heat of its nights

They kill just to smoke black / white /

Joints...

W T F

A Graveyard of points.