WILL POET FOR FOOD

Occasionally, a poem falls out of my pocket and I put them it on this page. Once, when I was living in the lilac bushes who were also just getting by within one of the rings of a freeway interchange, I found a hundred dollar bill amongst their fallen leaves. I went to Chicago determined to succeed. I found out that success first meant surviving. When I surveyed the gaps in the city’s infrastructure, the chinks in its concrete armor, and determined that the cloverleaf was a place that I could live undetected, unmugged, and unpoliced, I wasn’t looking for four-leafed luck, I was just looking for a place to sleep in peace. Somebody was missing their money, or had no clue it was gone…whatever. It had fallen out of their pocket and it blew into my domain of needy, weedy vacancy. I really, really needed that break.

The poems on this page are free, because now, I’m not so desperate, and instead, I have a lucky hole in my pocket.