The streets a known
institution of realities
notions of a society 
driven by famine

Streets of prostitution
by every political sense
yet discrimination thrives
like addictions 

the cost of lives is more
than the rate of return 
each day someone pays
the cost while cardboard
signs wave of needy 
resolutions left unfilled

Broken bottles of gin
dictates the drunken 
slumber of newspaper
beds left unread fighting
the night wind to keep
your cover 

The morning sun catching
glimpses of the tear stained
tracks left where the body
laid now all is left is the marks
from the shopping cart as it
makes it way down the lonely
street once again