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poetry Uncategorized

london underground

my words

are

trying to avoid

Grub Street

 

perhaps a futile endeavor

oh

how the Moorfields

draw us back

 

it’s so easy

not to think

 

we are water

and follow

the path of least

resistance

 

juicy rationalizations

plucked as grapes

off waiting vines

 

is it better to be a thug

than a thief?

 

why be either?

 

is there anyone left who measures honor?

 

however

i would prefer that

to being

a hack

 

i take out

my subway map