---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ISBN# issue/book “a Pick for the Future” cc&d, v275 (the Sept. 2017 issue) Order this as a 6"x9" paperback book:

Order this writing in the issue book Language of Untamed Spirit the cc&d Sept.-Dec.2017 collection book		get the 4 page May-August 2017 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

When Vagabonds Sleep

Greg G. Zaino

Your preparations and sorcery took time;
served to me the main course up front then withdrew,
leaving me with a side dish of infectious rot.

A well laid trap, I’ll give you that.
Years of my life spent chasing delusion,
my pride you nearly swallowed whole

This was a man’s soul, you sautéed in rancid butter
with toadstools, wild bitter root, toothy serpents,
and of course, sprinkled heavily with poisonous intent.

Oh yes, you’d stoked the fire with occasional head,
or maybe throw a sporadic fuck...
And how I’d burn.

You hated most in others, in me,
what you feared in yourself my darling.
Your ambition to destroy fed on self-loathing,
but you never understood that.a

How you took delight in conquests of spirit,
dissecting backbone- masticating character.
Accrued antipathy towards men
you poured over me.
You attempted to stuff this vagabond’s ashes
into a funerary urn before I was finished.

To protect my balls- out I spun,
turning from your sight and tucking tail,
escaping the back door for refreshing air and liberation.

Down there, that harsh winter of consequence,
I wandered homeless, shot a lot of dope,
mingled with countless brothers and sisters,
who likewise, and fought the insanity
and traded with me
diseased observations.

I hit the rehab to escape.
To escape the icy streets of the northeast
and rejuvenated bloody flesh by licking old wounds
and fattening up on starchy foods.

The dog you chained to the kitchen radiator
drove into the spare room to sleep on the floor,
now shares his bed with another.

Your replacement likes my peculiar brand of nonconformity.
The brand, if I had a mind, that goes days without a shower,
with a soul set loose to write filthy poetry
about disturbing sex and failed relationships.
A dog at liberty to bark at the night.

She walks bare assed in my home,
tells lame jokes, and says the word “Fuck”
any damn time she feels the need...
Get it!
Life has changed.

This mutt, evacuates his bladder where he pleases,
free now to piss on car tires and, if he has the mind to
rolls naked on the neighbor’s front lawn,
because he can.

Perhaps you’ll find this impossible,
perchance a mad rant, but your whipping dog
appears to be intact and holding up just fine.

As you’ve pointed out many times my dear,
I may be an inconsequential tramp,
but despite the occasional insanity,
and an ever pathetic wallet, the waters have cleared,
the mania quieted- nightmares eased.
I now enjoy a new perception of freedom.
Ruptures of the flesh have healed nicely,
the delusion has concluded.

Stop with your text messaging
and pathetic pleas for friendship.
I don’t need to hear that you’re sorry-
that you’ve changed.

Because now,
it rains only,
when vagabond’s sleep.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...