what are you know about the Homeless men who look like Old Testament prophets?”
I see them looking like Old Testament prophets, pushing supermarket carts loaded with their filthy belongings. I see them on country roads and city streets. I know how we dismiss them. We say they’re mad and nothing can be done for them. I know they may be thinking thoughts as awful as their remnants or thoughts more noble than I can imagine. I know poems are taking shape in some of those tormented heads, and mathematical formulas, and gibberish. If they stare at me it is never dauntingly, as some foolish men do. If they speak, it is often as innocent as angels and children, even if it makes no sense.
