The de-cadence

of the city

is too much to handle

the delis

serving up open beer

for the brown bag streets

of despair

The hipster

in pretense & false glory

the echoes of dissonance

resound in our ears

mind splitting numbness

setting in over

some eternal defeat

and no poetry will rise

from the deteriorating mess

the situation has rambled

beyond our control

Mortal comprehension

is futile

Nothing works

on the cracked cement

& urine drenched walls

leaned up against

by gangstas and mobstas

& other such human debris

the rotted teeth of hobos

will win no awards

for beauty in these eyes

& the drag is just a drag

& I ain’t interested

in needles and pins

object fear of mice

in the sewers

& let me outta here

I can’t take it anymore

and the sweet beer

doesn’t quench my desire

can’t be fallen prey

to this urban nightmare

of America

that I didn’t create

and didn’t even have

a hell of a lot

of say in either




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allets's picture

This May Be

The most perfect poem by you that I have ever read. It has everything! Period. 1994 a good year for writing! ~S~

Lady A


georgeschaefer's picture

thank you.  glad you like the

thank you.  glad you like the writing