Street Thinker

Tell me.
What thoughts are these?
Endless circles like
your footprints through this town.
A philosophy of dots has strung you out
and convinced you of your own profundity,
because one or other of them touch on truth
that is irrefutable.
Your intonation speaks confident riddles
but your sentences are missing words,
so no one tries to argue against
your incomplete scraps of thought
claiming to be certainty too soon.

Yet in your rambles
you speak more sense than
money lovers and materialists
and the Christmas shoppers
who only ask real questions
when the stress of pointless gain
has almost killed them,
you speak more sense than the normal
in your mumbled chatter
from alcohol breath and
tired homeless mind.

Though like the normal
you have your indulgences,
you have your compromise
and you cannot live up
to your own principles
and you know it,
and, above all, you need the gospel.

Written in December 2011 after long philosophical conversations with one of the homeless guys at the shelter I work. He used the word 'genius' to describe himself, however his philosophy was a mish-mash of different sentences he must have picked up from here and there that got jumbled up in years of street drinking and rough sleeping. Yet even as incoherent as his thoughts are the poem tries to express how his life makes MORE SENSE than that of a non-thinking consumerist. Still he has need and compromise and above all needs the gospel. There is another poem coming that will attempt to explain the why of the last line, but that'll be some time in the future... Music was recorded in the last week.


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