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Kensington

I drive through each forgotten street,
Where the daily trash upon the city does seize,
And mark on every body I meet
Marks of violence, marks of chronic disease.
 
In every defiant act of every Man,
In every officer’s premonition of crimes,
In every stigma, in every cleanup plan,
The clash of cultures, the clash of power pines
 
How the sex-worker’s cry
Misogyny reigns on the consent of some,
And the hapless veteran’s sigh,
extinguished dreams of terror from last night’s rum.
 
But even now through mid-day streets I see
for the prisons, hospitals, and homes
cannot contain the overdose deaths fear we
And even stumps the smartest, medicine bemoans.

2017

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