This poem is not vivid-dream derived. It is based on things observed in our city centre some years ago. Little has changed since then, I think...
Here, attenuated cats
Snarl and spit at puny kids
Prancing on abandoned cars
By infested urban tips.
Here, skeletal buskers squat
And pluck clapped-out guitars.
Cadging funding for a fix
By disgorging singles bars.
Here, half-crazed itinerants
Lurch and grope at tired hags.
Trading fleshly vestiges
By distended dustbin bags.
There, concocting ministers
Betray that populace
By foisting fake elixirs
On terminal excess.
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