I feel the cold crispness of winter
inside my nose.
Up above, the low hung clouds
reflect the pinkish, orange light
from a hundred street lamps,
marking the boundary way
of the street.
Cars speed by, swirling wind,
about me.
The warmth of my breath
puffs billowy, rhythmically,
as I exhale.
The pounding of my feet,
and occasional dog barking
at my passing, are the only
sounds I hear.
I try not think of the
distant point I'm running to
for if I look and see, it might distract me
from the concentration, that I need,
to attain by goal,
to finish.

Into the sunset, he did flee,
as if there was something chasing he.
Where to go? Where could he hide?
For he needed shelter, for this ride.
Nervous was he, this lonely man,
running away without a plan.
What must I do to start over,
for I am now very much sober.
I'm just a poor man, all alone,
out on the street, not even a phone.
There was a time when I'd share,
a place with Rats, under the stair.
I did not choose to be this way,
but hard times came on that day.
I'd get a job, using my finesse
but the employer need an address.
Housing is not something I can pursue,
so a PO Box will have to do.

Always interesting when entering
the house and forgetting
to turn off the alarm.
As the alarm was squawking at me,
I was yelling at the alarm.
Probably something like who
the heck are your parents, et al.
The alarm stopped it's siren noise,
after I entered the pass code,
and received a call from a lovely
person at the Alarm Company, that
wanted to know if we were OK.
After I explained my memory lapse,
she asked for my password, which I supplied.
A very polite, Customer Service Representative
who was patient and understanding of
this old, forgetful person.

The wand like scepter
in his hand
was made for him
and by his command.
A simple thrust,
a break of wrist
and your thoughts,
tremble and twist.
Who are you?
was often said.
His response was,
"I am Death,
you are dead."