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poetry

Unwashed hair
hanging in stripes
down a sodden back
and a too pretty face,
soot placed strategically
on cheeks and nose
for a grimy effect,
for protection.
Living on the street
nothing’s as it seems,
yet every surface carries truth,
because beauty won’t turn his world
to luminance from despair.
It’ll just be another reason
for vultures and wolves
to tear him to pieces,
like so much trash.
No one knows the difference here
and no one cares.