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poem 17 – 12-7-14
GOLD CHAIN AVENUE
i sat on the curb
with a burrito
made up of angst pimples
i knew the nameless faces
that walked on by
on gold chain avenue
the venue where our dreams exist
twilight bliss
carrying around
our Burroughs adding machines
with a swagger
no amount of money can buy
we purchased our goods
at the dollar store
we stocked up
our eyes followed the list
our hands wrote
with our intellect
not our hunger
mistakes are for the ones
that could afford them
we rolled our reefer cigarettes
once we got to the center
of our rented walls
with bones at our feet
and God watching over us
the rainbow didn’t possess the copyrights
to the colors
we knew more then the Real Outsiders
that market place would collapse
my gang of proletarians waited
alleged smug thugs they called us
these streets were ours
as much as the aristocrats
would like to differ
DYLAN DOREN 