California blankets- soggy, a week expired
They say one man’s trash is,
Well- it might be asylum.
We wait,
in a dust jungle.
Resting and reading
our shelter, around the Mulligan stew.
Carcass for marrow, onion scraps for a punch
We wait.
Then we haul-
with haste, locomotive
Displacement.
A. VDB 
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