Words off my face

I need to find piece of the pavement to call mine
Work up my apetite watching the street glow
Up and down town like a yoyo
My face in the pages of a metaphoric journal

Just a poet tragically lost for words
Beasts in yellow and red and aged to half past dead
Free ride is over boy I hear some father say to his son, get off and start to push
Up the hill of forgiveness no less, that ankle twister for the distracted

Forgiveness is a steep hill not the point of a church tower
My wheels would grow bald on the ascent
My spokes would bend
Why have I decided to ride up here again?

Words to the wind pushing the pages to take my sight
verse that some tasteful folks would deem impolite
I don´t look for sofas in hip places in blue light
I look into a parking lot office and see looking back at me... an early night

Where can I go? These spilt words stain my clothes so
Damn desire and it´s skirmishes with the life plan
I somehow got this book of poetry stuck onto my face
The lines are oozing out and reaking of rhyme

Oh god why did you make me a poet?
A dreamer of the word and world wedded
A vagrant on the face of your dirty soccer ball
Like the words on my face that don´t seem to fall