That Siren (ROUND 2)
Let's workshop this poem about the struggles of a homeless drunk who, caught in a cycle of despair, finds comforting empowerment in the self-deception that he is just recharging his explosive energies
That Siren Hoof polish chipped, front leg soaked in urine (the drunk ready to growl down all accusations), the city carriage clops off from its corner break. The drunk, crumpled against the marble facade, jingles a grimy coffee cup—to neon lies, sleazoid eyes glinting gluttony through designer perfume. He has to piss bad again from that old thought pausing time, that easy boost: I’m just gathering fuel here—that siren making here such a home.
