Entry 351

I see a lot of myself
In my loony neighbor.
We often cross ways
With mute nod or wave.

He sits on the curb and chain smokes cigarettes.
I sit and smoke a spliff.

We meet paths
On darkened avenues.
We shuffle by
Outside the library.
I with two hands full of roaches
& him with nicotine stench
enough to shame my reefer.

His dead eyes see thru me.
He might eat my face
But it’s no use worrying.
The man weighs over 300 lb.
I vividly imagine plenty of Me’s
Trapped inside his gut and
Massive limbs.

He seems to be on the meds again,
Assuming the meds are 
What prevents his shouting.
He no longer talks to himself.
I mumble enough
Half lost thoughts
For the both of us.

My midday diatribe, 
Spewed on any street,
Is quieter than my gait. 
Walking in my usual daze,
Which has become a stupor
As of late. You’ll hear 
Me scraping concrete 
From a mile away.

The sound of something dying,
That’s what our footsteps echo.

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