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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