We all yell in key

Not everything can be stolen,robbed, nicked or foreclosed on
there are things you’re born to be even if not in your pocket but buried under whom you’re told you are
a vox populi inherent to the DNA of  every city and forgotten places
ask the street lights
the benches of bus stops
bar stools
and the cubicle jail chairs
the prose of born silent stories are there to be told
the daily commute knows the voices and all our woe worries embedded with the  knowledge of the unvoiced sounds of the people
an out of tune chorus we forgot the lyrics and back beat
it’s the lost song we all know
sing people


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