singing for alms: shattuck avenue

the absurdist tokes of well wrapped cannabis
on a dainty sidewalk--ink blot gum embeds building character--
passed from hand to hand, steadfastly planted as
cosmopolitans run through their daily abcs
guitar saint strummer commemorating
the end of another world,
today, only asking for the change never to stop pouring
to his cup or through the streets

so that the world may know that change is our father
and mother and that holy phantom ghost that makes
so much sense cept
when we need it most, though

every tear's the same language
and every tone's for every age

and there's an old man raging
"can somebody help the homeless?
just need some food, some f-o-o-d--
just need a warm meal? can someone
help there fellow man?"
and i wonder with clenched mind can
somebody help
themselves, though

every tear's the same language
and every struggle is just the solemn bow
to that master Struggle as

we are subdued to this planet earth,
pushing against the cosmic forces
trying to find our own and
finding is being, which is breathing so

find your breath, inhale the smoke
and keep on singing for alms