A Style Mastered

The city lights never seem to say hello

They preach when to walk and when to stand impatiently

But the city lights never seem to welcome me shine

These streets do not belong to me, yet I belong to these streets

The pavement owns me, I am the curbsides belonging, and there is nothing that runs the gutters for my belly

I nickel up a cup of coffee, I penny down an alleyway dice game, I elbow deep

In an under the table night scrubbing dishes until my skin prunes to tear

Desperate, it owns my mind and soul

I scream out into the night from the fifth street corner

To be killed or saved, to be buried or to lift my feet from the asphalt

I determine strong realization

That I am prepared for either fate

It is the waiting game that chisels at my soul hammerblow flint

I cry when the thought of a clean pair of socks come to mind

I laugh to myself loud clear proud belly

At the thought of a two egg special weeks ago

When the time ran clear water and well

That I was not wrinkled nose at upon at the diner booth

I am the yellowing walls, the filthy public toilet stall, the trashcan scrap to eat

I am the man you pass, stride through, level eyes away

Anguish is my only artform



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