When Gregory was 20 his father died, leaving his enormous wealth and estate to his mother. Gregory had mental illness, and was a burden to his mother, who he believed was always ashamed of him. After his father's death, Gregory was sent to the street, penniless, and without any support or safety-net, where he lived out the rest of his life. I took this picture of him in 2003, and wrote and dedicated this poem to his life, in June of 2012.

It writhes, and tides and turns
  the guilt-man burning burns
he sits out in the sun
  baking cracks into muddy truth

Can I simply be a human?
  is there room left in your world
or do I disappear when you walk by,
  like my stink that swirls and fades

Your nose and heart closed
  i am repugnant to you--
superficial cunt, perfumed and adorned,
  but never adored. {except at stores}

You could have been my mother
  but you stilt by silky smooth
off to shop and prance;
  the mother of destruction

I was your child -- once,
  now a child of father street
watching hollow faces pretend to not see
  feet steping over, like shit on the sidewalk

You see me as an infection, I AM,
  but I am your infection
am I that ugly to you?
  I am what is in you; your creation

Would only one hand reach for me
  and love me or call me brother
look into my eyes and tell me
  mother - man and world; who are you?

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