whip-smart and blood-stained
the words leapt from his mouth
at a dizzying rate
extolling the virtues
of love and pain
and whatever else there is
mixing in the cruelest irony
with comments on rusty flowers
and frozen trees
all the rot he had found
I knew lurked within me
he sped on with vitriol
the likes of which
any dictator would envy
yet nobody could move
as he turned phrases
spun gold with his tongue
of such exquisite beauty
the Perseids were cascading
illuminating the darkest places
he was constantly beaten
whether from opening his mouth
or from ending his thoughts unhappily
but every night
he took his place on the street
screaming amid the squalor
and I for one listened