(he lives) Under The Bridge
          
          
          Lost
          Wandering
          Confused human
          
          Dirty
          Unclean
          Unloved
          Uncared for
          Unfortunate person
          Whom is ignored
          Unknowing of where
          Life's breath 
          Will come from
          Smelling of death
          And socially numb
          
          No life
          No help
          No hope
          No self
          No home
          No food
          No books
          No shelf
          
          Survival
          Exsistance
          Endurance
          The game
          To Him
          Each day
          Like the last
          Is the same
          
          Our life is living
          His living is life
          Picked on by strangers
          A target for strife
          Doesn't care what
          or where a toilet is.
          Lives under the bridge
          In a box that's all his
          
          Called a Bum
          a Vagrant
          a "homeless"
          How quaint..
          Part of an army
          Who patiently wait
          For an end to thier vigil
          Of filth and streetlives
          By death and disease
          And murder
          
          A victim
          A casualty
          A thrown out left over
          Unwanted by society
          A mindless street rover
          Wearing fifth hand clothes
          Eating third and forth hand food
          Second hand to him
          Is something brand new
          
          It's our fault, some say..
          "Does he like it that way?"
          A death culture product
          We manufacture each day
          More recruits for his army
          We send out everyday
          He lives under the bridge
          Its his only way.
          
          
          
          8-28-89 L.A., CA     -/\-Lob