Poetry: Individual

Picture it: a city in the rain

Dark, damp, musty, arcane

People shuffling along water-coated streets

Slipping, sliding, telling, lying

Suffocating in the humid heat


Picture a block: a line of shops

Rundown, forgotten, fucked-up lots

Invisible to the average men

Marching, talking, stopping, walking

Drowning cold time and again


Picture an alley: a poor man’s gallery

Painted, tainted, blackened, unsavory,

Lined with vintage treasures—trash

Melting, decaying, slipping time

Choking life like soaking ash


Picture a boy: a barely man

Dirt-streaked, naked, wounds with sand

Splayed out on the throne of waste

Cooling, unmoving, breathless peace

Crying blood that prays it’s chaste


Picture an idea: novel and sincere

Innovative, revolutionary, dear

Gunned down with rifles of tradition

Mighty, stubborn, strict, and black

Reiterating thought-free missions


Picture a hope: the one and only

Far off, pled for, solemn, lonely

A chain that links the boys invisible

Together, tethered, armed, courageous

Ending this slaughter of individuals

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