Urban Vision

The clerks at lunchtime

are almost a song,

walk backwards if you have no eyes.

They hunger for visions,

but only find distorted lust.

The last hand offers no assistance.

Old cigar butts sprout on streets

like bamboo jungles,

revealing liberal predators.

The young girls pass,

ball bearings in their buttocks,

greased by fezzed old men,

searching for conventions.

Gary Beck