deepundergroundpoetry.com
14 years in the business
They come to my door,
warning me about shadows
walking among us,
They, homeless
innthe hood.
They want drugs
I suppose
Secretly,
They like meth,
They like crack,
anything that will make them
feel good again.
No body doing
no yard work today.
They walk up the block,
because they're not really
going anywhere.
Sometimes,
they live respectful lives.
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