A Sonnet that Continues

Do you come home from work late at night
to a bed that could fit two people and stand there
with your backpack dragging your shoulders down
and want to turn around, go back outside

with a blanket and sleep inside a tunnel
where re-painted graffiti cries fuck and love,
where leaves from last autumn remain clumped
around the storm drain, and lie down

in month old rain water, beside the remains
of a homeless trash fire and fall asleep
to bat squeals bouncing off the cold cement?
Don’t do it. Don’t turn away from what is yours.

Clean the paint from your face, remove your clothes,
lie down in bed with your own beautiful body.


2 thoughts on “A Sonnet that Continues

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