with no beer
nor cigarettes,
Too early for
My street bodhisattvas to have lost faith this Tuesday
because the stars have rewritten their dharma
without prior notice,
a punch to the gut
the way an eviction note does
stapled on your door;
and the samsara of hopeful dreaming,
moving,
and despairing
is becoming
boring,
a colorful
brightly lit
empty
carousel.
