(For National Poetry Month I am writing a stream-of-conscious poem per day. Each poem is  a spontaneous poem single edit – could get messy!  Here is Poem #16.)

He stands on the median,
wearing a cardboard sign.
Politely asking strangers,
if they could just be so kind.

His thoughts long gone far away.
lodged in mystic fantasy;
If only he could slip these
bonds of stark mortality.

He says thank you for every
mere clink of spare change thrown,
while we slip by his island,
driving to places unknown.