by Andrew Peter Grant
Monday, November 11, 2002
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I am so temporary among this ragged mess of modern and ancient
Where taste and love has all but eroded, as these circuses
Charged with money and trade, begin to arrive in droves
Creating colossal structures of modern-day barbarity
Full of cold.
One should be superstitious of the towering drug ministries
That have crawled their way across cobbled Belmont Street.
Administering filth in all aspects to young getting younger
While all that remains of the clean and unspoiled is torn up
By the misled.
I once could see the moon and the glowing stars as I slept,
Yet cars became plentiful and created an atmosphere of black.
Buy this, buy that! A shopping center is erected once more
Once where trees flourished, are now replaced by barcodes