hand full of dead presidents

A hand full of dead presidents-
two sneakers with worn out soles,
a collar turned up towards the cold-
and a heart full of regrets...

You stumble down the uptown sidewalks
passing empty parking lots
showcasing vacant faces
in vagrant spaces

Where the smart come to numb their brains
and the dumb come to sell them pain.

Your fingers tremble like a guitar pick,
a falsetto trill written in front of the treble cleft script-

For cheap thrills and petty theft
you sell your soul until there is nothing left

But a dark so deep one could not see
it amongst the recedes of sleep.

Washington Square Park,
change and crumpled bills shake
in a pocket with no seams

It seems an endless pit,
the center of a cherry seed-

Nightmares suffocate dreams
while you dissolve what cannot be resolved
on the jagged bottom of a soda pop can

Pretending you will come up on top- reverse His plan-
all the while knowing that a man never can

Breathe out the belief with lies replacing grief,
the truth: you are damned.