his teeth were yellow pincers and held a burning cheroot between their 2 courses a gift fossicked from a dump by happenstance
the horizon was governed by a gathering storm of men like cyphers materialising then blurred then sharp again as crystal through shimmering phantoms of latitute
their intentions as ambiguous as their appearance
the vagrant feared them then speculated that they might present a great bosom of friendship
he had no evidence either way just as a judge parses the statements of plaintiffs and defendants disgarding those that ring untrue
his clothes were tattered by winds cruelling every direction
he had no home no family
a man hunted by grim fate
he found himself alone
a dead baby nameless seeking out the rivers of his life on the cold steps of an orphanage
Flynnpoetry 