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Trashcan Lives

 the wind blows hard tonight
and it's a cold wind
and I think about
the boys on the row.
I hope some of them have a bottle of red.
it's when you're on the row that you notice that everything is owned and that there are locks on everything.
this is the way a democracy works: you get what you can, try to keep that and add to it if possible.
this is the way a dictatorship works too only they either enslave or destroy their derelicts.
we just forgot ours.
in either case it's a hard cold wind.

Poem by Charles Bukowski
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Book: Shattered Sighs