Let's workshop this poem about the rich inner world of a homeless drunkard, whose disjointed centers of awareness narrate the daily life of his urban alley (from the mundane to the unsettling)
Even a Larry Merchant Talking Head Segment
The drunk’s fragmented selfhoods,
each through its own vantage,
color commentate
the alley cycles (from pigeons
shitting in the dawn to partygoers
peeing in the night),
spooking the forgotten child
inside dealers and blue-ball rapists
enough to move on.
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right).