smog

The streets,
cracked and worn
speak to me of ages,
I wander about
aimless in my transgression,
this procession of beastly
agenda our society calls progress,
a heartbeat of chaos
waiting for apocolypse,
I turn up my coat to the cold winds
howling amongst the alleyways,
trash and people equally
stirred to movement,
The storm rises
as the sun fades behind the delapidated buildings,
The homeless sleep in huddled groups
behind the 7-11 waiting for morning coffee,
The radios crackle out the days news
of wars and oil prices,
The woman at the car window
begs for change but gets none,
only stares and scorn
Mourning her lost virginity,
innocence bleeds out of the faces
of the children in the school yard,
while the principle fondles himself
thinking of the lovely little ones,
The cops drive on by
not noticing the looks of fear in the old ladies eyes,
disquised as impatience as
she pushes past the black man standing in the doorway,
and he follows her inside
perhaps its a good day after all he thinks to himself,
Its just another suburban suicide
the inner city coughs out another corpse
and we all breathe in the decay.