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