the hobo stays out all night
where bugs bite by the dyke
pastime alights without a fight
too fatigued to go on home
green-tiled urn mortuary's
gleaming gold gilted sign
loses its luster
as the western sun slip under the smog blanket
pylons piling on electrical smells
through peak viewing hours into the night
sleepless hobo tossed until dawn
running cross the plate
dressed in an old ragged uniform
from out of the night
and no more accounts to settle
10-31-15
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