Intersections in Winter

a december moon
watches
death, painless. Numb
wind knocking down giants
homeless dreams
of meth and sugarplums

-written after channel surfing and seeing an image of a homeless man dying on a doorstep. I closed my eyes and say a black and white image where the only color was a muted strand of christmas lights that reflected on the half frozen puddle at his feet that he died in. As his eyes glazed over to the same sheen of the puddle, a syringe dropped out of his arm, not an attempt to get high, but to speed up his heart beat to promote more warmth. I think he is a character in a story I haven't written yet. I have seen him a few times, pushing a shopping cart behind the main character of my story about a broken toy, asking for change outside the courthouse the day of a death penalty sentancing. I'm not sure why he is following me in my stories.