Outspoken Poet's Blog

part of my scratchnotes for a spoken word session

a canvas of my city, where the ugly turns pretty
In my city where there are too many cars,where the stars seem so far,
in my city, of big men and small deeds, classy ladies for cheap thrills,
reasonably absurd in a parody of a faithfull flirth.
My city, where some are more euqal then others,
where children become fathers, and where noone really bothers

they say the blue skies are blue,our blue skies are grey,
and intoxication takes place where saints were once laid.
in my city,there is nothing for sure.
when nothing is sacred,when nothing is pure.