Brent Kirby The Mean Days
late night, streetlights
people standing staring
concrete heartbeats
sorely lost for landing
backseat neckers
can’t fit in the spaces
bums steer shopcarts
lost from this god’s graces
i don’t mind
if you say it in your own way
somehow wishes
i could miss this, the mean days
drumbeats
wet sheets
looking for a shower
whatever happened to the sidewalk tramps
caught up in the hour
exhaust fumes rising
up to meet the sky
rebel rousers on red rooftops
think that they can fly
windy cool morning
feels like I’m born to run again
wait without warning
fabrics all torn and hard to mend
I’ll be waiting...
credit card sluts and cigarette butts
gutter fill the curb
echoed laughs
well worn foot paths
wisdom in the words
high speed hot rods
wrestle down the road
good time sweethearts
all on lock and load
