i was woken up by a homeless man
who knew about sleeping on a city sidewalk
and informed me that the police don't like
people sleeping in that particular place
but i protested, drunk as a pig i was,
and told him it was a carefully chosen territory
one which transcended foolish boundaries of the law

that he didn't answer, knowing that i knew him,
so he tried to change, speaking as if he was mad
about the police and the things they don't like,
ignoring the necessary boundaries of the language

the city is dark most when the main streets are on fire
so even madness can't stand up to two figures in an alley

we ended our conversation in a smoke
two damaged cigarettes i got from a chick
who didn't much care for the meaning of it all
when she spoke to me about freedom

i take that back, she never spoke to me,
it was her father she was addressing all the time
with big wet eyes, and a forgetful wallet,
liquored up and fragile, looking for radar love

i had a feeling we would end up in a bathroom
and we did, reading poetry on the walls for the poets
polluted by racist catch phrases and phone numbers
with endless promises of limitless sexual liberation

when you are young, there is nothing but sex to think about
death has a nice ring to it and so you look like a real man
when you're suffering and stumbling over the subway vent
on a city sidewalk, collapsing and sleeping
for no more than fifteen minutes, before a homeless man
tries to wake you up by sliding his hand into your empty pocket