33

We all pass

The homeless men that cops chide

That the Union Guys learn to hate too

And the Subterranean Queen who gives cheap favors

For some sad lonely dudes

 

But a slow 180 to freedom

From dark moon tar

 

Will bring meadows soaked in sun

Nimbus sprinkled skies

And the easy repose of an hour bus ride


3 responses to “33

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