In the blur
of my weary existence
I wander city streets
seeking some sort
of half ass absolution
from the vast reservoir
of my selfish actions
Always attracting
strange looks
from the judgemental population
as I mutter
half baked poetry
into the indifferent wind
Clumsy stabs
at rhythmic perfection
while spouting
deep reflections
on the meaning
of life
All these disjointed
connections
that never seems
to find completion
Closure mocks
and eludes me
as horns blare
at the catatonic kook
staring at the traffic light
in the middle of Strange Street
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