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Needle Park

Needle Park

To hit the sky
I need a pop;
I should have asked,
“Are you a cop? ”

And so I fade;
hey, watch my rig,
I close my eyes,
and out I wig.

If I get sick
don’t take my sash.
It may look sharp,
but holds no cash.

There’s not enough,
in this my spoon,
to spike the sun…
ran out too soon.

I’m still nearby,
but now I’m done;
all visions gone…
I’ve missed the sun.

My hopes were high,
my plight was dark;
across the tracks…
in Needle Park.

by Bryon Howell

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