A junkie shivers under the sun, the poet <br />scans the streets searching for that one word. <br />The senile midnight street walker rests her <br />head for the day. The old war veteran spits on <br />his medals, rubbing the memories until they shine. <br /> <br /> <br />We all look upwards when a plane passes.<br /><br />Not Long Left<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-street/
