not streets away
the layout of corners and doorways
where the light refuses to pay homage
to the humped blankets of the night
the peeling maroon bottoms of doors
scuffed and flaked columns creamed
in dilapidation across this pocked town
backwashed and walked in trepidation
of prowling thoughts turning down
under railway arches and subways
urine the vintage aroma of a wrinkling
but
who dares
but will not go
where despair stares
where the stone walls weep down
the long-drained ways of under here
below where the lights blaze warm in
shop windows richly comforting in
the buffering of money
as it always has
and yet these dank corners and doorways
alleys and praline darks vanishingly small
in calling out what is the point of it all
the backwardness of this cornered map
these catacombs of decorum
where the effigy of a shiver walks
who will dare follow i ask
because anyone with any sense
would fear to tread
but i will not ask you that
not yet
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