Out of the polluted galleys that they call streets I have walked, where those pretending not to be slaves run to the beat of an invisible drum. They shy away each on the same page on the same commute everyday, reading about someone killed last night in a gang fight in a city that never sleeps. And texts roll in, who needs an abortion and whose love has been aborted, though in reality it was a one-night stand, and she could not even remember his name...
walk with me
for a little while
stay in the tube
don't get out till the last stop
start taking your first steps