In dim rooms justice is discussed
to the melody of trains
with merried destinations.
Outside poverty plagues the streets
cities crumble
as does the man
sleeping beneath the daily news.
I see through a distorted looking glass
it is not distorted
you are only a man
with a suit and telescope
unaware of lost identity.
America is a broken dream
only a few posess the handful
of shards.
Pick your cotton
your grapes
your apples
find Route 66
find the poverty you have been granted.
In dim rooms justice is discussed.
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