the city street,
snow packed,
and full of potholes,
battered and bruised,
the same as the faces seen along the side of the road,
defeated and tired,
death a welcome end,
only politicians talk of health care,
and extending lifetimes,
fuck them,
let us have our cigarettes and drugs,
while we navigate this bleak landscape,
hopeless and unending,
an infrastructure of despair.


Douglas Polk

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