The Dank

You ain’t thinkin’ of gettin’ rid o’ the dank are ya Moe?

I like the dank

Exposed wires

Rotting wood

Rusting hulks and pigeon droppings

Paint peeling off faded signs

Skid row queens and alcoholic knights

The smell of the asphalt under summer sun

That beats down on lost water stained souls

And feeds flowers

Both endure

I like the dank

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