Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas

     Like a ghost with no name I slide among the
                    young people in Iowa City

                        I feel sorry for them

   Money is going to hit them like a sledge hammer

              There's nothing out there for me

           I am a dreamer, an artist with wings

The world is pitiless, a bland ugliness hangs over
this earth like some hovering vulture waiting for
                                   it's meal

                    I am trying to play it fair

   It's a hard play to do when your options are a
                            diploma or a gun

          All I needed was four art sales a month

                      I can't hold on forever.

Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas