A thanks to the half-naked transient drunk staring dumbly at the Mississipi

For the fact that you are anything
my ransom poem
anything I don't need to understand but still could know

any way I've lived will surely provide me with means to fit you
where your half-bare ass won't shine like a wild fingerpost for lack of light

where those fleshy lumps won't draw my whole unordered world
with inexorable imagist power

don't you know I wondered if god
and you could die but I am not afraid
though you stand high on Mississippi's dirty bank
I am not afraid, I see your sodden breath shimmer ligthly up the morning air
your two red orbs half-exposed like the newborn sun
as if all the pantheon of gods pulled cathartic at my naked heart
and I passed by without a tear, crossed the river dumbly
on your transient propitiation.