Rain on gray street
and gray marbled sky--slow moving
clouds just finished overnight--
with brass band playing somewhere
out of sight, the only other smells
are starbucks and subway and you
can get that anywhere in america
and probably the world on every
city street corner that isn't ignored
or shoved headlong into some ghetto reality
that doesn't exist here, we're living
a choas dream of all the wild stagnant
dreams you've ever heard of in squat
skyscrapers that taper off into block
house hell with the only visible resistance
a pile of wet blankets soaking in
a park that no one else bothers with
until lunchtime fantasies--I get it, no kidding--
and when to cross the
street I'll never tell ya, just watch the signs
that get us there in one piece--
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