sense change cents

sit
wait for the thought
will it come, will it naught
not happening
a possibility

there it is
a tiny bag
red with polka dots
white
walks along the tracks
at night
trains light shows
the bag connect
dirty broom stick -
shouldered
whiskers,
then the face

silhouette 
of despair
grey hair
sunken cheeks unique
peaked by peeking inquisition
in the dark

freedom
with a sunburn
boredom
never comes
for all those so hitching
blank rides with the thumb

here or there
"longest unwashed unkempt hair"
happy with old insight glare
eyes
speaking before color decipher
where is their food?
something to cry for

yet not a tear
nor fear; throw money at
social norms do not apply
to wisdom

raisin skin grin
useful space thin
what kind of apple?
what is a sin?
Granny Delicious
or just deep red?
smelly at the bottom

rotten fruit it matters not
if hunger on the mind begot
do not like or do not want
all meat does come
from the hunt

Free mind, free mind
free, f r e e . . . .
saddled on the seat
next to m e . . . . . .
on a bus, rusted school
justice is this homeless fellow?
just what is this mellow yellow?
Jaundice?
No, Justice.
Yellow are your windows tinted
gold gaze fixed rubber cemented

sorry for is up against
happy inside makeshift tents
sorry inside's not without
for it carries ten times clout
freedom
state of mind