Anesthesia

These Indigenous Indigents
Flock around the flame
Their hopeless eyes
n' sordid guise
portray them all but lame.

For these here are no weaklings,
Though vagabonds,
they are.
They've traded hearts
for old car parts
To make them what they are.

Limpid thought has fled them.
Love has been a curse.
Heroin has made them blind
Yet always reimbursed.

For these here are no heroes,
though broken men,
they are.
They've traded souls
to ravage holes
in hopes
to
numb
their
scars.

Author's Note

Observe the needle-like body of the poem.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A powerful poem. Photo gave life to the words. Hard to turn back when your world is falling apart. Thank you for the excellent poem.
Coyote

[Wolfhilde]

This is again a very good poem. you have a unique style, and I like it very much. your words are beautiful. A good one, again! :)

[afra]

deep and beautiful good job