there are too few lawns
in this neck of the woods
this having no woods either
for a gal sitting in a window
looking down at a
grid work
of a gritty City
the hunger of which she
must feel
with each expelled breath
of cigarette smoke
all this place brings out at night
in her place among
them
her hunger and theirs
tied by some imagine
thread
she can't manage to untie
only endure
taking pleasure from
the string of souls
who she invites in
then does not see
again
touching something
only
not the something she needs
touched the most
floating above her self
watching them do
their best
to satisfy her when they have
neither the touch nor the tenderness
to make her feel it down deep
where it all counts
more grit in this
gritty City
she endures
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