If I could,
I would live elsewhere,
In quiet alleys,
Lit by the underglow,
Of dying streetlamps,
Burnt sodium trees,
The cries of cold children,
Black static air,
An old man's bones,
Scattered,
Some here, Some there,
No, I would not live here,
When I could be dead there.
© G.R. Yeates 2010
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