He speaks only in quotes
Stolen from the last dying breath of the
Greatest living poets
A core of molten lava bubbles and glows
In place of a real human soul
Oh to be a real boy and
Not a fall down drunk
Oh to get up and go and
Not roll around in
All this shit
All the time
And any presence of mind
Has left him abandoned in a
Midnight parking lot
The single yellow streetlight
A spotlight
Over his broken frame
Mistaken for a halo by all those tossing coins
Into the empty brown hat at his feet.