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Hobo. (Free verse) by SupremeDreamer
Withered grass weeds bend with the wind and I sit there, absorbed by the soft roar of traffic, on my oversized hiking-pack just off on the side, under an overpass; my soil thumbed cardboard sign out and waiting for the next kickdown or the arrival of oblivion. My beard has reached the Moses state and the stillness which possesses me, while I idle amidst the pulse of traffic, is what the ascetics must have felt, begging with wooden rice bowls in the Buddha palm fields of India. This is what the fates have reduced me to, but this verrucose path that I've traveled has taught me to fucking endure the elements patiently waiting for my needs to come to me. What makes my day, really? It's seeing the face of a yuppie agape at the sight of me with a seven hundred dollar laptop bought with his highway donations. I smile as their face contorts further as they realize that I'm drinking the same overpriced mocha-latte that they do. Fuck this land, Indian graveyards, and the skeletal scavenging of capitalism. Fuck you who looks down on me-- when Rome falls, you'll be fucked while I'll finally be set free.

Up the ladder: Gemini
Down the ladder: Your Turn (revised)

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Arithmetic Mean: 4.3333335
Weighted score: 4.9205313
Overall Rank: 9479
Posted: October 13, 2009 1:52 AM PDT; Last modified: October 13, 2009 1:52 AM PDT
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[2] ARTIE @ | 7-Apr-15/8:03 PM | Reply
Fuck you who looks down on me--
when Rome falls, you'll be fucked
while I'll finally be set free.

Set your own fucking condescending self free. Vulgarity obviously hasn't worked. Look around and realize, you shackle yourself.
[n/a] SupremeDreamer @ > ARTIE | 9-Apr-15/4:21 PM | Reply
Ah, I see you're a wee bit butt-hurt, aye? :D Life itself is fucking vulgar you cunt-rag.
[2] ARTIE @ > SupremeDreamer | 9-Apr-15/4:32 PM | Reply
I am not in the least bit hurt. I used to like many of your works but, aye and alas, you have fallen from grace lately.
[n/a] Y2kSlamPoet @ > ARTIE | 13-Apr-15/3:47 PM | Reply
Lately? Where the hell have you been? This bit of squabblin' that we're engaged in is a direct result of one my recent comments on a poem of yours. PERIOD. Let us at least admit that artie, 'cause seriously?- your full of shit. Should I now pander twards your approval, because I have "fallen from grace lately"? Think that really matters bud? IT DOESN'T. By god, I've worn the orange wings of shame at one time. But when you decide to excrete shit, by god, I'm gonna call it shit. Aight? YOU FEEL ME BRO?
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