I see white men
I see white men folding waterwild washing women daring winds
in a new round of clean survival
measly powers to be congregating
in cold caves chiseled by the poor
hear the Latino rhythms breathe
flies of a constant summer
multiply the push of hot air
through arid villages
where a meal is a big thing
stale mate moves in the dark
old tree trunks feed green moss
there is no meaning
just a time to pay the bills
and feed the bed
I see James Dean in jeans
and there are handouts
gained at low speed
where myths and weird movies
congregate
on the Lower East Side
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2017-03-30 at 19:56
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Texts |
by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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