Namdam
He is unearthly in his endevours
He walks but never stumbles
Staring at the cracks in the surface
No confusion befuddles his mind
The transfusion of ideas floods his mind
His shirt smells of sweat and vermin
He travels on his streets
Possesive of his darkened corners
The pitch-dark alleyways draw him closer
His covered home never warms
His treasures are stockpiled and horded
Nothing but garbage
His hair is a mass of tangles
Filthy cheeks hiding freckles
His eyes darting to and fro
Paranoia envelopes him
He lays down in his bed
Warming himself with cardboard
His pillow, an old day planner
Embossed with his name
He expression never changes
He focuses on the word
Running his hand over the gold letters
Never grasping the loss
He lay vertical as the snow dust covers him
He shivers without comprehension
A street punk ventures into his secret realm
Spray painting his home with sarcasm
The boy runs off laughing at his own humour
Namdam, it says in color
The man awakens and stares at the bold red
A tear drips down his cheek, his home violated
He places the cardboard near the dumpster
And he rummages for another
He finds another.
It smells worse.
He takes it
And I stare at the window
Where the cardboard reflects
Madman
