I cannot
Say if the world
Runs right;
It may
Walk left
For all I care,
And I do care,
Or seem to think
So, so
There.

In the middle,
Between
One and the
Many, a
Multitude
Cries
For more,
For something,
For anything
Real and
Enticing,
Inviting,
Warm and
Hospitable.

A bed and
A roof and
A meal and
A friend are
Not my current
Worries, as
They could,
Would, should
Be....

rjw, 7/21/97


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