All those who believe I’m homeless—blind as I am
Walking with my stick or dog—
That woman in Boston who prayed for me
Who ran off when I offered to pray for her,
What’s wrong with a cripple’s prayer?
In London a girl cried “poor Dearie”
And thrust coins in my hand.
In Cleveland a red faced man
Followed me block after block
Proposing to help…better I thought
Than the alternatives—
Asylums; work houses.
In general the poets of my nation
See the blind as existential blanks.
But tired of standing for nothing
I sing my way down Broadway
The sweet, manifold syllables
Of William Yeats—
Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind…
Planet of the Blind 