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A Poem by Montreal Poet - Jason Freure

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A Poem by Montreal Poet - Jason Freure

GAP

He hunkered, in mission dormitories,
warmed by hypodermic needles
and Dilaudid pills, subsisting on Big Macs
and riding metro trains, picking fries from the bag
through the season of death.

The city is a loneliness. But one must have friends,
sixty dollars a day for Dilaudid,
living in judgment, and evictions.
Loneliness is a luxury of the employed.
Who was with him when he died?

It rains through the city
on the vagrants with guitars.

Compromise is easier.
His face groans mangled from the cover of his book,
drunk, howling desperate emails, beatings,
losers, hospitals, cruelties.
He scalded the compromised
and now he is the judgment of the dead.

The city's hate blows
behind their jeers, junky, junky.
Where are the vagrants with their guitars?

Does Dilaudid amputate the soul?
Dredging up his books and needles
won't uncover from his cynic laughter
the blood blooms and needles,
his days of vagrants with guitars.