STREETLIFE SONG
Not getting washed much : nothing so
bad as six months out. On the street.
Pushcart to lariat, boulder to post, old
feedback to older dumpster toast. And
everywhere I look, something new is
gone again. Every doorway that I knew
by heart had an extra entrance for me :
outside the miserable end of the Bowery.
Bottles and booze, or scratch and weed,
everything ready for every need.
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