A City Called Decay

Sun scorched denizensStockton, CA

hiding in febrile  shade.

A place of contempt.

Where every doorway contains permanent shadows.

Paper memorials and decaying flowers

line streets honoring the innocent

and the incessant.

Time flows freely for some,

like the needle they stick in their arm.

For others, time stands still.

As still as the torrential,

decalescent air

surrounding them at:

…bus stops.

…welfare lines.

…crosswalks.

…funeral marches.

Decadence plays the part of

the gullible,

the weak-willed, abused.

Open, perforated arms beckon empathy.

Shame and self-degradation run in

short supply.

Blood runs through the gutters

staining the already tainted

debris with apathy.

Yet they still kneel.

Pray to a non-existent god,

in the center of a concrete jungle.

A place where your guardian angels

have abandoned you.

RMIV

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