Dig, dig, dig, working like a little historian in my old files and remembering so much that I had forgetten. Reading through mainly (bad) poetry, I discovered this little gem I had forgotten about from 2001. Enjoy (or not).
In the city
echoes heard on the street
thieves and thugs hide from the heat
the beatnik punks hunched over like chimps
the heroin hooker and her coke head pimp
they spend the night coldlamping with creeps
walking along the hell-lit streets
the drifters huddle because it's cold
the schzio bum is dying alone
you pick up your pace....and hurry home.
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