Row Home Death Camps

The smell of dead flesh.
Abandoned Nieghborhoods.
The Desperate eyes on my back.
The lonely strays of the night.
trash can fires, drunk bums.
Trash Trash and more Trash!
The tears of a prostitute mean nothing.
Stagnant rain water turns gray then falls into the sewer.
never to be seen again.
When i was a kid,
i used to fear falling down
into the sewer.
so dark.
so dirty.
No one cares what goes on down there.
Somehow, i dont think about that anymore.
Maybe some small part of me would actually
like it down there.
Milk crate basketball hoops,
nailed to a splintering telephone pole.
The children play to keep themselves
from thinking about hunger,
and falling out,
and escape....
More trash.
The pleas of the homeless fall upon def ears.
Here,
The whites fear the blacks
and the blacks fear no one.
Its crazy how such beauty can be found among
human wreckage.
It all depends on how you look at it
i guess.
12/2/06 - 12/9/06