Ode to a Homeless Gay Psychic

O Demetrius,
must you pass
cracked in pieces
less than half
a stutter-step
a flourish of anguish?

Is there no other way
to get others to give?
To get away with a scream
a fake laugh?

O otherworldly psychic--
street map of distress--
if only your loop could
turn the bend and
bring you back
from the middle of the street

You armor yourself there:
wild eyes, flailing arms, shrieks
your backpack split
to the wolves
jail-bound hounds
in the traffic and flashing lights
you conduct
an orchestra of heat

O Demetrius,
you dance the worst dance
that humans do:
The Outcast
unwanted, misconstrued
Harbinger of Discord
so unlike the others
these streets hold
between their teeth

You're a dusted angel,
O Demetrius,
with just one rusted wing