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Aug 2016
...

There on the corner it stands
Black thicket jacket
Tightly fitted nightmare
Hemmed in borderline madness

Dancing on a fractured curb
Slightly off balance
But never falling as its prey
Watches on, hypnotized

Wavered movements
In sprayed graffiti howls
Wrench a stoic moon
Against fevered night skies

A coin is tossed,
Shining under the streetlight
Rotating on its edge
Carved lines fluctuate

As steak dinner lockets
Hang around the alley
Whistling at red painted fingernails
Leaning in open car windows

Waste finds its place here
Among the silent, the grey
Brick faced contractors
Belly up for the feast

Table cloth capes
Splattered with last week’s gravy
Brown stains sliding past
Iron gate exits

Yet there is no exit
No entrance, no sidewalk
Or city street to sleep in
Cardboard box condos

In this realm nothing exists but it,
Clutching the unsuspecting
Drinking fear on the rocks
Icy glares in frozen glass

So, wander if you will
Past the crow’s stare
Beady eyes searching
A crooked pathway, and you will see

There on the corner it stands
Stephan
Written by
Stephan  Camp Johnson Crossing NW
(Camp Johnson Crossing NW)   
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