a poem by Derrek Faraday

I’m very tired, running away

To a New York street in the fray

But fret as it’s cold

Who could bear to sleep alone in households?

Pay my debts off, I’m getting by

Money talks and I’m telling lies

But that is nature, we’ll never stop for yellow lights

It’s not a sign, we are finding our blight

Week for the drugstore, I see a face

All too familiarly replaced

That’s how I know this street

For its gross, amazing change and its beats

Never settled, never asked why

Transit speeds too fast to remember the sky

I have money I abuse, I’ve never seen it before

Love’s labor chore

Hell freezes nowhere

Money is everywhere

Homes don’t move at the speed of life

And that’s a sign

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