Breadcrumb #461


Bundles of humans cling to the ground, as
the sound of city lulls them to sleep
They are not seen as part of the landscape

Hungry ghosts. Tracked, smacked & methed
Close to death, they devour their meal
& feel like greedy, wild dogs

They sit in prayer pose for that dollar
Wail & holler, “I’m just tryna eat, man!”
But none can stand for their supper

An upper, a downer, or a rock,
set their mouths aflow & their spirits
aglow with hopes of a hit. They sit,
pray, sit for hours

A catatonic stupor invades
their mind. They just need one person
to be kind. One person to help them
silence their hunger.

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