SM · The Art of Poetry

There’s people out here,

Playing Spider Man,

With the concrete,

Contorted,

At the ends of alleys,

On the corners,

In the doorways,

Sometimes I ask how they are,

Often their 8 eyes can’t see,

But I can see them,

And their 8 eyes are like a telescope,

To the center of the mind,

And the soul,

One I hope they are trying to find,

Beneath it all.

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