Alleys

A silence echoes
through the alleys
where the scabbed up bums,
come down from trips,
to awaken
in pools of piss
and vomit lace.

Jesus comes by here every now and then,
collects both cigarette butts and wind torn souls.

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1 Comment

Filed under poetry

One response to “Alleys

  1. Dans la brume du matin et des nuits de brouillard errent des AMES EN PEINE , .sortant d’ un troquet mal famé , aigris par la vie ,i ivres et titubants sousl ‘effet de l ‘alcool ingurgiteée , à la va vite ,..Sans plaisir ou se mèle rancoeur , déchéance physique et morale

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