the
slow siphon alchemy sounds of paper money
this
is an old river town
it
is full of thieves
and
bureaucrats with hands
that
are like razors
clean-combing
the streets
for
crumbs and rolled change
planting
long lines
to
fish the teeming seams
between
black market economies
beneath
the expression
of
hurry in the faces
of
denizen scurry
and
the paper currencies
they
cover their bases with
their
paces and places
and
what erases memory
just
long enough for them
to
forget what happened yesterday
these
gambling joints
stretch
out and are
open
all night
they
anoint chance
after
chance
on
wooden floors
they
howl loudly for more
more
beer
more
wagers
more
things
that
can comfort us
as
thin as the light
bending
around the corner
as it is nearing
Dawn again
and even as the tranquility
of each day's re-birth
seeps in with
the certainties of surrender
it is
just a quiet invitation
to take another chance
in the accordion-collapsible destinies
you
can find from the cobblestone to the asphalt
from the next locomotive way
to every in and around
of these bi-sects of human desire
that go where they can
to find the costs
of a free market world
where they go to gain
the knowledge of when
to
fold themselves in
and go home with
at least
one
piece of gold
anchoring what's left of their soul
as they hold what is
in their pockets
to compass-point them
toward what
tomorrow can bring
with any luck left
over
as they climb the stairs again
you're on a roll today.. love your perspective on these stark truths, put forth so assiduously, it rights me for one as i go along working here. Respect to you, appreciation. naomi
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