Run with the Hunted

The maddening hallways
the lonely doors and screaming walls
and the blackened drunken rooms
were all part of this man's life once.
The daily trips up the Grey Street
to the the soup kitchen where the crucifix held
men and women standing on the cold wet stone
in winter hungering for a meal
hunting for conversations to make us real
and down the road stood the inn
named the John Lennon with its washed blood floors
where the one-eyed, one armed man stands a drink
and down the road is the cafe strip
with its Jewish cakes and thick Turish coffee
laughing mad crazy like as a Porsche rolls by
all mixed into one, a melting pot
of defiance of songs sung.