The cold wind blows the scattered trash
Only to have
it lodge against another wall
Fence,
sidewalk, concrete, pieces of steel here in the city
Yet the
movement of the cans, paper, cigarette packs are the only life on these streets
There are
people here, but they only exist in the city
Buildings
stand like giant weeds in this non-productive garden
They look
awesome, strong and detached from the earth below
The giant
weeds draw the life out of people in the city
They hide the
sunshine, clouds, sky and the heavens at night
Some have the
audacity to belch smoke, smog, robbing
life from beneath them
They don’t
care, know, love, hurt or feel
Like the
people that built them
The people of
the city
11-15-1978
Revised
3-14-16
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