Reminders
Wanderers. The silver tops, I mostly
see them with something in their mouth. If they’re going somewhere, it’s
probably for another. Fill the rusted coffee can with desiccated paper husks,
make sure they’re just off the property, but the elevator is still
smokey. The blimps with pizza-boxes. The mud skinned and clothed Caucasian to
be clear alcoholic living that outdoor life begging by the grocer cross-legged
on the grass. Can’t do nothing but live for it. Neural pathways forever
altered. A groove that has eroded away never to be filled.
Dug in.
Who are they, why are they still
alive? What do they contribute? Where are my tax dollars going? All they do is
go and get something they lust after that hates them back. Poisons them,
destroys them. Goring anti-inspiration. They remind me of someone who shares my
stares.
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