rising kingdom of crabgrass, great leveler of sincerity
the thin, stale air letting out loud strikes like someone stole his lunch money
ancient plastic ruins from some previous lavish empire of matchbox cars
sirens sound in the distance–maybe on east 211th
where’s the savior now, when you most need him, pig-face?
might have run off with the retired therapist and banker
desolate & broken, saddest auxiliary in the unwanted world