Portland

This is a poem about Portland, born of a troubled mind
A place where junkies wait outside public bathrooms to get a shot at shooting up, vain attempt to fin a vein
Homeless people are spread out on the streets like butter
Portland is a place where bread butter are just around the corner
Feeds dot the landscape and people line up, like shoppers in as supermarket awaiting the latest discount
bums Carts are piled high with various goods and kept close at hand
Spangers looking to score pot in Potland clash with yuppies seated outside cafes, like junkies seeking their next fix
Zoobombers stand tall among the bike pile of 16 inch bikes, ready to ride the next hill
Portland's a place where one is free to work on zines at the IPRC, sell them at reading frenzy and dream of bigger things,of souls and guts poured out for all the world to see
Portland is a place where I meditate observe and muse upon life in forests of towering firs
And here is what I see all written down and only awaiting your eyes in this, the place of my birth
Portland