Poem: Streetpoet | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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Poem: Streetpoet 

I live in the street
I sleep in the gutter
Among the shabby hordes that stumble and mutter
I do my best to sing for my supper
And distinguish myself before you
It’s true
I do steal cigarette butts from ash cans
And I have been known to drink
But suffer me my friends
I am a man
I can still think
And with this sidewalk as my stage
I know that I can entertain you still
With poetry
Pure verse
In the most beautiful way I know how let me converse with you
About how I tried to be like you
To do things the way the way that you do
Until I broke my hands, and my ribs, and my mind on the task
Now all I ask is to be forgiven
And be given one last chance to dance for you
With all that is left of me
And if I can make you laugh
If I can make you cry
if it’s worth anything at all to you
help me survive
I am the last of the living poets
That ply my trade in the streets
And I live and I die in the hearts and the minds
Of the beautiful strangers that I meet.
And try to make my friends

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