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he lifts himself quietly
so quietly
from beneath the sheets
soiled with neglect
makes his way
carefully
past the shallow-breathed crumple
that lay milky-eyed in a heap
un-moving on the floor
save a twitch of the sodden head
which head now harbors demons
where nocturne angels of sweet release
laid down lush upon her
in fevered embrace
lustfully conjured
by last night’s spoon and lance
still skewered
silver in the soured vein
he stops but for a glance
verifying life
then moves on
head down
he angles to the bathroom
to the scum-brown bowl
to wash his face
a face
lit sallow by the yellowed bulb
that hangs bare
and lonely
knowing eyes of sadness
stare back from the mirror
broken as his heart
in the dank foodless morning
of this ruined single room
he gathers up his books
steps lightly through the door
down the damaged stairs
into the hostile streets
heavy
with a childhood of strangled dreams
he ducks and dodges
in and out of shadows
his prayer
to once again avoid the evil
seductive as a smile
deadly as a snake
that lurks and slinks
among the garbage and graffiti
of these crumbled brickened canyons
evil
which should diligence fail
will consume his youthful soul
deliberately he continues
until at last
he finds his way into the building
into the classroom
into his desk
into the only hope
to which this innocent dare cling
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rob kistner © 2/4/10