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crawling against the light

 

the beggars keep watching
the city has betrayed them
has given them nothing

 

red faced nails in single file

 

move strange amputated shapes
branched on the sidewalk

 

and the memory

 

well painted on their face
has the sound of a chorus of voices
and the voices die
in the most bestial notes
in the history of their humanity

 

in thousands

 

continue to strive
for one truth at a time

 

for a life
as a vending machine