concrete rises
plagued by mirrors
images of 
itself.
the night comes
long and slow and hard
in the shadows
are the homeless, the winos
in the shadows
are the weeping, the wrinkled, the tired
in the shadows
are the breadfruit children living
in boxes that's been tossed
in the shadows
poets breed like rats 
from million dollar housing
in the shadows
publishers steal the greatest riches
in the shadows
are wasted rejection slips of crack
tossed into bins under neon nights
and looking out at all of this
is an eight yr old boy yearning
staring through a screen
at a trash truck
he's longing to pull the handle
on us all.