It's cold on the street outside my window.

A loud mouthed man-cock screams at woman

whom pleads tenderness

and shivers.

Tears falling, joining one with the night,

while Christmas light dances,

to celebrate Jesus.

And I, think of the pigeons

perched on the blue "T" of the K-Mart sign.

One on each side of the vertical line

that keeps them apart.

Poems written on blue paper gas station towels, empty envelopes from bill collectors who can only wish for a payment.

Moments in a life to precious to loose in the search of proper paraphernalia.

A bit of a tear, a piece of a smile stuffed in drawers, in pockets, in books to be washed or crumbled and tossed into the left over eggs from yesterday breakfast and the brown, hardened

gravy that the cat wouldn't eat.