Midst clamor, fumes,
cacophony of bargains,
a simple cry
Gazing at all who pass
at faces drained of life,
a face entreats,
a hand reaches out |
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In the country of the damned,
a broken-boned sadhu curls on his side
A forest of legs and crotches
shadow him. Coins
that are almost his.
Falling
coins, a globule of spit
spangle his bowl
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