Hobo Town Hall....
Underneath a cemet overpass
Fire's burn in discarded oil drums
shadowy sillouettes huddle in circles,
flame flickering light dances it's heat
seemingly mesmerized are those,as
they watch the rising cinders float above
like their dreams of past charred to ashes...
Empty bottles strewn at their feet
the voice at the bottom of glass
doesn't hold the same magic as it first did
when they wrapped their lips on it's top,
empty hollow sounds,coming from
even more so,empty hollow spirits....
Town hall of a different sort
gathering of a different community action
if you want to call this action...
...but,a different kind of gathering all the same,
same action....different town....
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