THE HOMELESS MAN SPEAKS

i wish i would read the new yorker
on the subway and appear as smart and
savvy as she next to me from whom
i hide these words as i write

(tilting my notebook leftward
with an ever-increasing incline
forcing pen ink to defy
gravity to stick to the page)

as i write
about her and her reading habits and savviness
while a homeless man delivers his verse
in the land of the blind

In the land of the blind
no one sees the forest for the trees
so they’re all cut down in the name of safety

delivers his verse with all the panache
of a homeless man

In the land of the blind
a haystacked needle pricks before its found
and that fleshy pound might be two or three

of a homeless man singing
poems on a subway car

In the land of the blind
people still get on their knees to worship their celebrities
and broken eyes stare at tvs anyway

and i wonder if my verse

In the land of the blind
stars go ungazed; plays unplayed and
trails will forever be unblazed

if my verse will one day be read

In the land of the blind
crooked and straight seem the same and
every leader leads mankind in vain

be read by the smart and savvy

In the land of the blind
every cry for help is words and everyone
is unsure if the suffering they heard is true

or heard by another young stealth poet
as i beg

But in the land of sight
these things are plain and we all see who is lame
and hear me asking “brother, spare some change?”