ah, this simpering galère,
architects of the bicycle belt
–
they stand like statues
stretched, touching earth
–
but not in heroin’s grasp
instead in green energy’s
–
they talk of zymurgy
surrounded by beards
–
they do not reek of death
surrounded by garbage
–
ah, this coterie of cleansers
this galère of gentrifiers
–
these under-the-rug sweepers
of a sad, sunken society
Image courtesy of AJ Taylor
Categories: Art & Life, Creative Writing
