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this old man (edit) (Free verse) by Bill Z Bub

Grimey, like a shuffle in the downtown sludge, open bardoors breathing the stink of liquor and piss and old men, their pockmarked skin flaking hopeless desire. this old man, thistle man, throws down the brown paper bag filled with smashed sterile bones of glass, and rubs his hands, his empty hands. he croaks, points prideful gnarled knuckles at the line-walkers passing above. snatches the black woolen cap from his lap. he won't move til he's ready, this thistle grown from concrete and asphalt, prickly and dried, weathered in a barrel for life.

god'swife 18-Apr-03/2:19 PM
Terrific flow at the beginning. Try to stay with it. Great images; thistle works well I think, for all the obvious reasons. Your going to be a great writer some day, some day soon.

Come to California
I can't see your brown eyes from here.
Mend my sorrow.




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