in warren dens
of clutter
dust mist
swirls a dance
as needle winds
scream past
draughty windows
burrowed
above the hard streets
where America gets molded
one rough day at a time
the rough clay
drawn from hard lots
crafted
over patched blacktop
and spotted sidewalks
scramble down
teeming streets
stop-go, packed-hell
commute
lets us daydream
our way
to destiny
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