Detroit Street

Closed off in clotted avenues crunched up math stick figures of flightless fancy – those are the lost slung on top of Detroit Street. The alleys call over the realist walking bandaged. Somewhere his dealer exalts and flaunts his haunted treasures. It’s a quiet night on Detroit Street. All there is is a night to hold together the fabric of what and where. Surly and tense, the pain swallows the prisoner.

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