it feels fungal,
the itch of hate,
stab of resentment,
souls wounded,
walking along avenues inlaid with broken diamonds,
passing edifices of gold,
where anything,
anyone,
everyone,
neutered from human to being,
commodities,
bought. sold.
kleptocratic ungovernance …
the 1%.
snouts deep,
buried alive,
all conscience excised,
seeking more,
always seeking more.
the 99%.
shrivelled shadows,
tucked away under underpasses,
seeking enough,
always seeking just enough.
years days moments minutes hours months weeks decades,
pockmarked,
weary,
skidding,
clinging onto,
raging roads,
hobbled,
shovelled,
dragged deep,
wrestling demons without,
within,
yet always,
always,
hugging hope,
as night yawns,
and a new day dawns …