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An Urban Saga I'm staying alive, amid this neon gallery, just able to eek out a pittance of a salary. For me the street now holds a special place as I meander about, just able to keep pace. A showcase of lovers and beggars the like they protest their wages, and go on strike. The streets are littered with refuge and reason in wine and rose, we celebrate a new season. An elixir for the Gods, a bottle of Canadian rye relieves this loneliness and lets me fly. I shoot the breeze, riding high atop my brown horse my veins burst forth in an ecstasy of gallantry and remorse. The lights are out and darkness prevails lets burn our souls, if all else fails. We seeketh answer to every sorrow and yet, somehow, forget all about tomorrow. by James Papastamos |
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