CONDEMNED

No money in the streets
But only sweat
And
Gutters

I creep alone through crowds,
Jostled
Thrust aside. . . .

As I look up I think
Of wide, free
Places.

Oh there are trains
But I
Look up and see
Canyon walls with staring windows
Pressing in.
And know . . .

No money in the streets
But only
sweat
and gutters.




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