down in the grass the prostitute's toes feel alone
in the grass the toe's beg for tricks
some are painted with blood
some are chipped and pale and blistered
some dig deep in a hole and feel more alone
on the stones on heels like wheels they move fast

down on the stones peppered feet scatter
as salt is thrown and the sounds of sirens
move like an entity in the veins of their souls

packed toes weighted down by bent necks
carrying weighted bags
held by the bent bones of the spirit

the sky is made of citations
and written by sore muscles
throwing parts of the sky
into the eyes of the blind

there are clouds on the ground
in the shapes of hidden open cages
where bodies hide without keys
with sore cartilage flapping through the grass
that begins to melt
and the stones begin to shine

the cement meadow grows by dying
the cement meadow dies by growing

it is not a place
but only a scene

held for the night that cracks its jaw
and drops the moon into the moment

when I fly through to find a heart
lying in between the grass and the stones
I fall and pick up its beating loneliness
longing to place it in a shadow of a soul

where I find my sin
and understand my virtue
as I place the heart
in the shadow that turns pale and sweating
its darkness into my light
so I can shed my morality
and become a man
where men turn into their animal
and the meadow watches
me
on the stone that grows
into a trick
where magic was created
to fool
even god

interesting...

Kinda deep and dark but very interesting.

Okay, I've read this a few times, and I just keep comin back to it...Jimz, hope you don't mind my "twist on this" I just can't resist...It moves me for some reason???

She walkes the streets,
a beggar, a pauper, a junkie
She hits the beat every night
In her heels and bling
She moves in slow motion
not caring or wanting
wishing she could walk away,
but it is so habitual, this nonexistant emotion

Her soul was lost so long ago
she searched and searched at first
and had hopes of finding
redemption in the blood of Jesus
then she slept and thought it was all a dream
and gave in to the poisin once again
turnin tricks is easier than reality
the familiar is better than admitting
what you have become

She looks in the mirror and see's only shadows
dancing and laughing and prompting her on
Into the night full of destruction
Echo's and whistles taunting her along

She walks the streets
her soul is gone
her only friend
her shadow
following
falling behind
disappearing
gone


Her only