Brutal

Brutal beliefs
In an over ripe
Memorial garden,

Low buildings,
The shadows drop
Quickly at dawn,

All the neon
And glitter fades
In the sun,

All the cracks
And stains slouch,
Ungroomed and tired;

A surprised town
Where the dandelions
Sing until winter,

Streets propped up
By liquor and
Flickering hope,

History itching
Through pavements,
Beneath doorways,

There were reveries
Here when the dogs
Roamed.

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