I want to write a poem
for the hunched crumpled lean
for those unheard, unseen
standing on the brink of shadows.
I want to write a poem
for walls stained with sputum, politics, urine
for stunted trees, weeds and accident-split vehicles
forested with algae and amnesia.
I want to write a poem
for the withered, freckled, soiled,
for the lonely, weathered, aged – neither classic nor ancient
only shrivelled brown and not wanted to be found
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