Do you know what it’s like?

My mind’s a stray dog

a thousand chimes fall

every hour

every day.

The street stinks

like a veterinary clinic

Warmth is found in a paper bag

or kneeling alone

in a motel 8 shower.

Here 

it's always Christmas eve 

in a dive bar.

 At midday

 the brightest thing 

is a lit cigarette.

The insane come to me

a magnet in a scrapyard

barb wire cuts

into my hands. 

I merely 

understand 

that home aches 

like a phantom limb.

Sociopaths 

scream about success.

Clockwork parishioners 

worship.

I write love letters

to people I’ve never met

or never will.

Imagine

being on fire 

under the arctic seas

no words

no sounds

no prayers

Christ would weep

Vincent's blue stars.